


There Once was a King

by LastShadowPuppet



Category: Loki (Avengers) - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Dark!Loki, F/M, Infatuation, Intense Romance, Obsession, Obsessive!Loki, Older Man/Younger Woman, Pseudo-Incest, forbidden feelings, incest themes, modern!AU, possessive!Loki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-13 19:57:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4535304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LastShadowPuppet/pseuds/LastShadowPuppet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He long ago accepted that he isn't going to heaven- Loki/OC</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**_Warning: Will contain themes of incest, angst and emotional despair. If you aren't comfortable with any of these please don't read._ **

* * *

_"i will wade out till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers"- I Will Wade Out, E.E. Cummings_

* * *

He long ago accepted that he isn't going to heaven.

He is no religious man. He doesn't go to church and faith is not something he possesses. But he knows that whatever the afterlife is or whatever awaits him after he has passed on from earthly life, it will not be good or kind.

Because from the little he knows of heaven it is a place for heroic, just and kind people. A place for people such as his brother whose moral compass points due north constantly and who sacrifices himself day-in-day-out for a cause he believes in, while serving their country deligently.

Heaven is a place for people such as his mother who has been kind, compassionate and just in her entire life and who has never uttered a cross and unfair word or committed any wrong-doing. Heaven surely reserves a place for his mother who has dedicated her life to rear her children with as much love as she could muster.

He is not meant for heaven. If there was a thing he is certain about it was that.

He is scheming and mischievious, especially when he was a child. He still recalls the numerous times when he tricked Thor out of the new toys that their father gave him for his birthday. He is self-serving and selfish and not at all altruistic as a good person might have been.

Heaven is a place for heroes and saints.

He possesses no redeeming qualities.

Yet perhaps all those characteristics which make him so unpleasant to his brother's friends- Sif can not stand to remain in the same room as him for more than five minutes before she would spit an insult at him and storm out of the room huffingly to escape his company- might have become void with time.

If he had just been self-serving and resentful- so resentful of his father's affection to Thor to the point that he has often just considered pointing one of Thor's guns to his chest and pulling the trigger with rigour- perhaps with time he would have been absolved of those short-comings and gone to heaven.

But he knows that will never happen.

If there is such a thing, he will never see heaven.

The reason for this is currently standing before him, looking up at him. All soft smiles and rosy cheeks that make him think of  _raspberries on cream._

The reason he is damned for all eternity is currently passing her fingers through the strands of his hair, while standing on her tip-toes as he towers over her tiny form. And she whispers warmly: "You should cut your hair. It has become way too long, Loki."

They break apart when her name is called from the kitchen.

She looks at him once more, over her shoulders, before she exits the living room, giving him a smile which makes her eyes crinkle at the corners.

And his black heart dies in longing for his sister.

* * *

He doesn't know the exact moment his sickness began.

Perhaps it has always been there: Since the very first moment that he held the warm bundle of cloth in his arms. In his fifteen years of life it had been the first time ever that he gained any advantage over Thor. Both him and his fair-haired brother were standing at the side of their mother's hospital bed where she was resting after a fifteen-hour-long labour.

His mother first handed his new-born sister to him. And Loki held her before Thor and everytime he thinks back on that moment, he becomes more and more impressed with the monumentalness of it all. And each time, he recalls his fifteen-year-old-self holding her tighter, greedier.

His therapist- who exhibited no visible reaction other than the tightening of his weathered hand on his pen when Loki had savagely confessed that he dreamt of fucking his sixteen year old sister into his mattress- concluded that perhaps his obsession for his little sister springs from that. That perhaps Loki has made her into a symbol of triumph over his brother and due to the fact that he has spent 32 years feeling inferior to Thor in every way, he has these sick urges towards her.

He grasps onto this explanation from his psychologist and he spends his nights reciting the words the middle-aged man had used to appease him as he paced ferociously up and down his office like a caged panther.

He recites these words whenever he pictures her rosy lips or her creamy skin and he starts to positively burn with desire.

* * *

The incestous thoughts first started two years ago.

* * *

Before that he was...  _absent_ from his family to put it mildly.

His falling-out with his father had occured during his semester vacation in his second year of university.

Differently from Thor who had enlisted in the RAF as soon as he had turned eighteen, Loki had chosen to read Classics at Cambridge. And almost as soon as Loki received his acceptance letter from the institution, he had moved out of his parent's home in West Berkshire and moved permanently to his dorm at Cambridge.

It was only at his mother's insistence that he visited during the semester breaks.

His brother made sure to stay every second of his leave in their childhood home. But then again Thor and Loki had always been diametrically opposed.

He had come to his childhood home during winter break to spend Christmas and New Year with his family. His mother had greeted him warmly as was her way and his little sister had not let go of his right leg since he had arrived before lunchtime. But the air around Loki was thick with his father's resentment.

Loki supposed that it was only a matter of time until there would be an argument betwen him and Odin. Tensions had been escalating all afternoon during his arrival. And that build-up had led to an explosive discussion between him and his father.

And as Odin saw fit to accuse him for his absence to the family, Loki did not hesitate to let the man know what he thought of his parenting skills.

The result was Loki waiting for a bus to Cambridge at ten o' clock at night in a deserted bus terminal.

And despite his mother's continuous pleas he had not returned to West Berkshire for thirteen years.

* * *

He received the invitation to his brother's wedding one evening when he returned to his flat in Covent Garden.

The white envelope almost lost itself between the bills and advertisements. Yet the sight of his brother's name on the crisp white paper causes Loki's hand to stutter and for his eyes to widen.

He had only just recently started talking to his brother and any of their interactions were tentative and hesitant with an underlying tone of resentment. Thirteen years ago, Thor had taken his father's side during the Christmas fallout and the two brothers had not talked to each other until last year when his mother had called Loki and told him sobbingly on the phone that his brother had been reported 'Missing In Action'. And despite the childhood jealousy that Loki still harboured towards Thor, the news his mother had told him caused Loki's heart to stutter and for him to remain catatonic for three consecutive days.

His brother had been rescued and they'd reconciled when Loki had visited him in the Central London hospital.

The invitation was for his brother's wedding and when he saw the name of the bride, Loki's lips twisted into a small smirk.

He wondered how Sif felt about the fact that his brother was marrying this  _Jane,_ considering the woman's less than subtle affection for his brother since they had been children.

Again, as with any matter involving his family, it had been at his mother's insistence that he had made his way back to West Yorkshire on a sunny March afternoon. Him and his father had still not reconciled and Loki could not imagine that Odin felt any more inclined than he did to make peace.

His suspicions were more than confirmed when he received a short handshake from his father and a curt greeting before the man turned away from him and went to talk to some distant cousin of theirs.

And despite the self-deprication he felt at that, Loki could not ignore the pang he felt in his chest at his father's coldness.

Yet he steeled himself because he was loathe to let anyone see that Odin's behaviour towards him had hurt the invulnerable Loki. He didn't want to appear weak infront of all these people who didn't like him or actively loathed him.

So he put on an indifferent expression. He supposed that the ceremony was  _quaint._ Thor and his bride seemed like a perfect couple. He looked like the perfect bridegroom in his dark tuxedo and with his handsome looks while his bride was beautiful and appropriately emotive. The decoration was tasteful and the food served during reception delicious and Loki knew that it had been his mother who had organised the wedding party.

Loki had been truly surprised when his mother had directed him to the central table where Thor and his bride were sat with their family and closest friend. It threw him off for a short second, long enough for Sif to give him a dark and hateful smirk before resuming with her barely concealed scowl at watching the man she loved marrying someone else. For the entire dinner, Loki did not look up from his plate.

He had hoped to be sitting at a table in the far back. He had never expected that his brother would have him sat at his table. It had been twelve years after all.

He rose during Sif's speech where she congratulated the happy couple and Loki openly shook his head at what a poor liar Sif was.

He exited the tent that his father had ordered to be built up in their large estate and he'd distanced himself from the merry company.

And then he was standing, with his tie loosened and a cigarette resting at the right corner of his lips, looking out at the dark, black water of the lake at their estate. The crisp night air of early spring wafted past him.

And then suddenly someone was standing beside him and Loki only looked minimally to his side to see who the intruder was.

To be painfully honest, he'd almost forgotten that he had a sister.

Their ages had been to far apart and she'd only been four years old when he had left after his and Odin's falling out and not returned to West Berkshire until that day. Whenever his mother had told him something about her, he'd only been half-listening.

His sister had positively slipped his mind for the last thirteen years.

And now she was standing beside him.

She had none of the fair and tanned looks that his brother had inherited from his father but he could see definite traces of Frigga in her. Such as her light-golden auburn hair. Or the softness around her rosy lips.

He was the only one of the children who bore no resemblance to either his father or his mother.

And with a dull pang in his chest, he wondered at how much Freya had grown up. And he wondered how he had been able to even recognize his sister.

"So, the wayward son returns," he heard a soft voice remark teasingly. She wasn't looking at him. Her hazel eyes were trained on the inky-black starry horizon and her arms were crossed over his chest so that the pastel-pink cloth of her cress bunched up at her chest-region. Unwittingly, his eyes flickered towards the strip of exposed skin there.

He didn't answer anything and threw the used cigarette to the ground before stomping it out with the tip of his Italian leather shoes.

His silence didn't deter her and she continued: "Mother and Thor were so happy when you RSVP'd. I think..." He interrupted her then, his voice sharp and cutting and spat indiffirently: "I don't really give a fuck what you think."

Without looking at her, he could see that her head had snapped towards him and startled hazel eyes were trained on him.

He saw her, even without looking.

And then he turned on his heel and slowly trudged back to the party area from where one of the newest chart hits was being played.

He'd expected her to remain there looking after him in shock. Even to return to the tent slightly teary-eyed and to remain at the side of their mother for the rest of the evening.

Yet what she truly did was... unexpected.

She stormed after him and then she proceeded to poke his chest- the top of her head came to a stop several inches beneath his shoulders- and she spat at him: "Well I'll tell you anyways. Father hasn't the greatest parenting skills, at least not when it doesn't concern Thor. I've come to terms with that fact and I'm about half your age. It's time you did as well, you've hurt mother for long enough now."

And then she left him standing there. And it was him looking after her in shock.

Later, her flashing hazel eyes would come to his mind as he masturbated and the sight of her pursed lips and pale skin caused him to climax so hard he almost bit off his tongue.

He visited his family more after that.

His father seemed indifferent.

His brother always greeted him with a fraternal pat on his back.

His mother hugged him enthusiastically.

And over her shoulder, he would see his sister's harsh expression thaw.

He told himself that he didn't visit because of her.

He'd always had a propensity to lies.

* * *

_**AN- Please favourite, follow and review** _


	2. Chapter 2

_"and the earth withers the moon crumbles one by one stars flutter into dust"- As Is The Sea Marvelous, E.E. Cummings_

* * *

"The flat is lovely, my son," his mother smiles at him warmly as he pours her tea in one of his monochrome mugs. It is Saturday and his mother called him quite unexpectedly this morning, announcing that she had bussiness in London and asking him if she could pass by his flat for late afternoon tea after he was done with work. He had known this morning that today would have been an exhausting day at the office as the due date for the publication of a two-thousand copy edition of a novel was the day after tomorrow. But he was unable to reject his mother's visit.

He pours some of the Jasmine tea he bought during his last trip to China in April into his black, ceramic mug and then he sits down in front of his mother and she proceeds to talk at him about something or another which she finds important.

Despite the fact that Loki can be quite charming when he wanted-  _needed-_ to be, he cannot tolerate innane conversation. He has never harboured any interest in small talk and only forced himself to engage in it during his company functions when it was absolutely necessary to further his career.

Now however he indulges his mother by half-listening as she tells him about the new rose-garden she is planning to plant in the eastern front of their estate next spring and ocassionally nods his head in something akin to acknowledgement and encouragement to his mother. He has always been very patient and indulgent towards Frigga. In his memories of growing up, she remains as the only entity that ever cared or paid any mind to him. And for that little show of affection that she had bestowed he was infinitely grateful. Which is exactly why he allows her to waffle on and on about the benefits of red roses versus white roses, instead of snapping at her and telling her to leave his flat as he would have done with anyone else. He indulges Frigga despite the fact that he has had a stressful day at work and just wants to lie down in his bed.

"... and Freya has just received her acceptance letter from LSE," Frigga continues while putting down the porcelain cup after taking a dainty sip of her tea. His face snaps up at the sound of her name.

His heart quickens in his chest.

His eyes narrow, like a hawk that has just spied his prey.

"I believe Odin is very happy that at least one of his children has chosen to read business and economy. You know how it was always his dream that the company remain a family venture," Frigga chuckles. Loki nods his head slowly, almost gravely and after drinking the scalding hot liquid he states as indifferently as possible: "He must be very proud of her." Frigga smiles at him brightly confirming that they are.

"But it's so much that we have to do. I know Freya hasn't left the front of her desktop searching for an accomodation," his mother states worriedly. He cocks his right brow imperceptibly. He can hear out the subtext in Frigga's statement. Like there is something she wants to tell him: A silent plea. But Loki can't identify it. He only knows that Frigga isn't just commenting this offhandedly.

His suspicions are confirmed when he states: "Well she better solve this sooner than later. Accomodations in London are expensive and hard to come by" and Frigga's beautiful face falls.

He will only realize what it was that Frigga wanted to ask him three days later. He agreed to spend the weekend at his parent's house. It was a busy week for him and just yesterday they had completed the publication of the newest novel which would appear in  _Barnes &Noble _on Monday for sale. His mother had invited him to spend Saturday and Sunday in his childhood home in West Berkshire as both Thor and his wife would be travelling down from Manchester to spend the weekend. Usually, Loki would be very hesitant to spend his weekend with his  _family,_ rather prefering to remain in the privacy of his flat with a good book and a glass of red Bordeaux.

But he is completely worn-out from this week and he finds himself not that opposed to the idea of remaining two days in his parent's estate and the thought of her rosy lips twisting into a smile is all he needs to get into his car on Saturday morning and drive one and a half hours west to Berkshire.

He is walking into the kitchen when he hears his brother's hushed voice: "Mom, did you ask Loki already?" Before his mother can answer, he walks into the kitchen with his usual carefree, elegant stride and heading straight towards the sink he asks: "Ask me what?" He can see the carefulness on his mother's expression, but Thor has always been more impetuous than any of them and so in his booming voice he asks: "If Freya can stay in your flat while she studies at LSE."

He catches himself quickly enough but perhaps if he had been another, the glass he fills with water would have fallen from his grip and shattered on the marble floor.

If he was another he wouldn't burn with desire for his little sister.

He is Loki, however and so he only cocks his head minutely in answer and taking a sip from his glass, he drawls: "So?"

Thor continues undeterred making the case for his youngest sister: "Yes, accomodation in London is so expensive and bad in most cases and you have a big flat that is very close to her university. It only makes sense that you allow her to live there."

Now he realizes what his mother had wanted from him when she had told him about Freya's difficulty in finding a place to stay in London. And he realises that he simultaneously dreads and longs to hear those words.

Thor is still going on. Making the case for their little sister. Loki wonders if his brother would be so vehement if he knew that Loki dreamt every night of making their sister scream beneath him.

He looks up when he hears the subject in question's voice: "I have already found some oncampus accomodation, Thor. There is no need to bother Loki about it." She has her arms crossed out over her chest defensively. Almost as if she has guessed his depraved thoughts and wishes to shield herself from them.

She has her blue eyes trained on him and Loki meets her eyes head-on. He wonders who will look away first. He is determined and eventually she looks down before turning on her heels and walking away. He looks after her until long after she has disappeared from sight. He pays no mind to Thor's condemning glare.

* * *

He left the kitchen followed by Thor's stream of resentful accusations a few seconds after her worldless exit in the same manner as her.

And it has been two hours since he had looked at the ceiling of his childhood bedroom, lying on his back, wordlessly.

Despite his...  _emotions..._  towards Freya he has never believed that he would act upon his dark and animalistic urges. He has always believed that his want would be confined to his dreams and would never see the light of day, eventually to die with him. Regardless that every passing second in her company made his want for her increase exponentially.

Her living with him on a day to day basis would be torture.

The  _sweetest, most delicious_ torture he could imagine.

A soft knock sounds at the door and Loki mutters a loud-enough 'Enter'.

The door opens to his mother and Loki looks back towards his ceiling. The bed dips as his mother sits down beside him at its edge. Until now the room had been silent and loaded with his thoughts and the temptation he feels and with his reluctance to give in. By no stretch of the imagination could he be called a good man. Yet he still possesses enough decency to not want to expose his innocent sister to his dark desire.

His mother breaks the heavy atmosphere with her words: "You know how impulsive and protective of Freya Thor has always been." His mother is apologizing to him on behalf of his son. Loki quells the urge to smirk darkly. Thor thinks him a condescending bastard, he would never apologize to him. And Loki believes him to be a brainless buffoon. Not even to his mother's benefit will he accept the apology.

Frigga sighs at her son's reticent unresponsiveness and continues: "I did not want to spring this on you on Wednesday. But Thor does have a point, Loki. It's been very difficult for Freya to find a place to stay in London. Everything is either full or falling to pieces and it all is expensive."

He sits up and scoots back so that his back is resting on the headrest and then drawls: "Yes, well she claims she has found something mother." In response, the woman shakes her head sadly and explains: "I think she said that because she doesn't want to impose on you." And he is close. So close to just sending all his morals to hell.

He is absolutely done for when his mother states: "Despite being the best option, you two would have a chance to become closer."

* * *

She moves in a month later.

He makes sure that while she is moving her possession into the guest room which she will occupy from now on, he is busy at work. And he also makes sure that she knows it.

She arrived in the morning as he was having breakfast in a light summerdress that he had wanted to rip off with his teeth. He let her in but didn't stay long enough to greet her properly. He had unlocked the door to her there and then turned on his heel, cutting off her: "Good morning" and he returned to the kitchen. He just finished breakfast before her arrival so that he'd been able to put his dishes into the sink and with a cool voice informed her that he was working and would only return later than night.

He doesn't care that she feels unwelcome. To be honest it's what he is striving after.

For a month he has been regretting his agreement to Frigga and Thor's request. But he had allowed her to come. And he knows that Thor and his mother would have never allowed him to go back on his promise. However this means in no way that he can't scare her off. Loki believes his sister to be a sensitive young girl who has been protected and coddled her entire life by Frigga, Thor and Odin. She will be utterly unprepared for his disdain and maltreatment. And she won't know how to deal with it. And she will leave, perhaps even in tears. He will never hear from her again.

After weighing things up, Loki decides that it's a small price to pay for saving her. And saving his soul.

He arrives in his flat at about seven o'clock that evening and finds her in the kitchen. He is about to forego a polite greeting in favour of gruffly snapping at her for whatever reason. But she interrupts him by announcing: "I have made dinner."

He closes his mouth again. He is surprised by that. He hadn't expected it. Surely she is tired after unpacking her things and settling into the flat.

She turns around to him and gives him a small, tentative smile.

He is about able to stutter-  _how Thor's friends would laugh at the state Silver-Tongue had been reduced to:_ "I've already eaten" and without waiting for her answer, he goes to his room.

He flees as if the devil incarnate is after him.

And he feels that he is in more trouble than he thought.

* * *

**AN- Second chapter: Please tell me what you thought. Thanks for those who commented or kudo'ed :D. This will all be written from Loki's perspective and I'm wondering if you think that the characterisation up to now is accurate.**


	3. Chapter 3

_"rarely-beloved a single star is uttered,and i think of you"- In the Rain, E.E. Cummings_

* * *

Throughout his whole life, Loki has done his namesake justice. For as long as he can remember, Loki has been blessed with a sharp wit and a quick mind that always has him a step ahead of everybody. As a result, there is very little anyone can do to suprise him or to trick him. It's always him doing the tricking and the mischief; a silent and unconscious tribute to the Norse Trickster God he has been named after.

Yet now he finds himself  _baffled._

She is acting so  _fucking_ domestic.

And he doesn't know why his surprise is so great at that. It makes him realise that he knows next to nothing about his younger sister. It isn't as if he believed that she was a spoiled brat. No... Whenever Frigga or Thor talked about her they exuded pride and admiration for the young girl. Loki supposes that she has to be sweet and innocent and virtuous and everything that he is not. 

He expects that after a week of him dodging her attempts at cooking dinner for him and not commenting on the cleanliness and organisation of his flat she would have enough of his lack of gratitude and recognition and she would cease her homemaking. But it isn't as Loki predicted. And she goes on to ceaselessly wait for him in the evenings with a dinner cooked and the house clean and impecable. And Loki continues to ignore her efforts. 

If he is being quite honest, he doesn't dare talking to her. He is scared of what will happen if he does. His nightly visions of her have become more intense with her increased proximity and he wonders if she hears him feverishly moaning her name in the dusk.

He supposes not: For all her sweetness, he does not believe she would still be smiling brightly at him when he arrives home from work were she to know that he dreams of fucking her so hard she couldn't walk and act  _fucking_ domestic the next day.  

He thinks that he is more determined than her: he believes that he will remain brusque and unkind and mean to her long enough so she will tire of the bad treatment and retreat from his home. Yet she shows no signs of weakening. And Loki wonders for how much longer he can resist the temptation of her blushing cheeks and her rosy lips that are now omnipresent in his life.

Not even when she starts university about two weeks after she moved in, does she cease to cook him a dinner that will remain uneaten and greet him with a clean house. And Loki has to resist the urge to strangle the girl.

He has always had a quick mind. But even someone as dim-witted as Thor can tell that this arrangement between them will not end well.

* * *

He meets Sygin at work. She is the proverbial, fit new office secretary and she has been giving Loki the eye since she started working at the company.

She is one of those sexy blond bombeshells with shiny, wavy hair and long legs and Loki sees all his male officeworkers looking after her with unconcealed desire each time she passes by them. The fact that she, so desired by many, seems to want him should be definitely be an ego-boost; not that Loki ever had any trouble with women. Perhaps when he was younger, but now his dark looks and his mysterious charm definitely make him an object of attraction for many women.

It's her who takes the initiative and asks him if he wants to go to dinner. It's the jealous look in his coworker's eyes that make him say yes.

They go for dinner and she is so _fucking_ appropriate for him that he finds himself utterly bored: she is his age and well-read and she studied at a proper university and she is beautiful and would be the perfect girlfriend to show off. 

He drives them back to his flat and his lips don't leave hers in a steamy embrace since the elevator drives them up to his floor. It's late and he has drunk too much wine and he hopes that _she_ will walk out of the room at the sound of them arriving and that he will prove a point. But they enter his flat and he shoves Sygin against the wall of the entrance hall and she moans loudly and  _she_ doesn't walk out of her room. Not giving up, Loki steers them, still kissing Sygin but now with his eyes open to catch a sight of _her_ , towards _her_ bedroom. 

The door is open and the room is empty and Loki wonders where she is. It's Friday night and she is probably at a friend's house or at a party... Or perhaps at a date.

The thought inflames him and driven by his jealous rage, he takes Sygin in _her_  bed.

Roughly, messily.

He comes with his eyes closed and his nose buried into the pillow which smells like strawberries and lillies and just  _her._

Despite the rough treatment on their first date, Sygin still finds herself keen on him. And Loki takes advantage of the blond woman's infatuation with him. He takes her back home, equally as stormy as the time before. 

Just as he first thrusts into her, he looks up to find his little sister standing at the hallway looking at the sight before her- _her older brother furiously fucking someone on the living room sofa-_  with wide eyes. He expects her cheeks to start glowing bright-red and for her to run back to her room as if Greek Furies were chasing her. Yet she remains, her cheeks grow red and her hands start to fidget but she doesn't move an inch. And seeing her stoicness inflames him and he lets out a loud and shaky moan and proceeds to thrust once more into Sygin. 

He lasts pathetically little, looking at Freya while thrusting into the blonde beneath him. And it's her name on his lips that he holds back from calling as he climaxes. 

When he opens his eyes after coming down from his high, he looks back to the hallway.

He finds it bare of her. 

* * *

The two-hour ride to West Berkshire is deathly silent. It's not as if they have openly conversed once in the month she has been living with him, despite her attempts to start a conversation and his harsh and dry rebukes.

But there is something different in the silence that envelops them now and if Loki has to guess he would have said that the silence is loaded and tense, judging by her rigid shoulders and her determined look to the front. It's been a week since she caught him and Sygin in the living room. And she hasn't greeted him since that night. He still finds the casseroles with dinner waiting for him but the kitchen is now bare of her expectant form. 

And Loki shouldn't wonder at that. She had watched her brother having sex with another woman and climaxing while staring at her so intently that there was no mistaking it. He would have been a deluded fool if he believed that there would be no repercusions to that occurence and that she would go on normally with him after witnessing such a sight. Her pious and decent sensitivities have been injured and she is letting him feel all her discomfort. 

They arrive in silence at their parent's estate and are greeted by their parents and brother. While both Thor and Frigga seem delighted in the same extent to see them both, Odin clearly gravitates toward his youngest daughter.

Loki simply watches with a rueful smirk as Odin fawns over the pretty auburn-haired girl while giving a short nod of acknowledgment in his direction as a greeting. 

Their relatives naturally ask how they have found living together in the past month and Loki answers non-commitally with a shrug and a nod to signify that it is not unbearable. She is more vocal as she states: "It's been going well." And the words are expressed in such a final manner that not even Odin dared ask for anymore details about their living arrangements. 

And despite being in the warm presence of her family and back in her childhood home, Loki observes that her shoulders are still tensed and the skin around her lips is still tight. She still is impossibly tense.

Later it's only Thor, her and him in the kitchen. The two brothers are sharing a pint of lager while she is  washing the dishes from tonight's dinner and the three siblings are conversing. He should correct himself: she converses with Thor and he converses with Thor but no conversation flows between the two of them. And perhaps Thor notices this but he is much too absorbed in other matters to talk about it. Or perhaps he is just ignorant to the tension between the two siblings.

Sometime his brother asks him: "Tell me, Loki: Have you finally found a woman to make me an uncle with?" Before he can answer the nosy question, he hears the sound of glass shattering and the two men look simultaneously towards the third individual in the room to see her crouching on the floor and picking up shards of porcelain that had previously been one of Frigga's dinnerplates. And after she disposes of the shards, she leaves the room without directing another word at Thor, who is looking at her with his brow furrowed and confused eyes, and at him who studies each of her moves carefully, and with still half of the night's dishes left undried.

His lips twist at the _delicious_ realisation that his sister is  _jealous._

* * *

It's Sunday morning and Thor and his parents have gone to watch service in Reading.

He fevereshly twisted the entire night after realising that perhaps his sister's behaviour is not only borne from discomfort but that there is also the possibility, which is becoming much more feasible by the minute, that she is jealous of him.

When his mother comes into his room to inform him that her, Odin and Thor are leaving for service, he finds himself unable to resist knocking on her door in the now empty, save for them, house. There is a moment of hesitation, Frigga has also surely informed her that they all would be leaving the house save for Loki, before he hears an almost reluctant 'Enter'.

Whereas in his previous visits, the shelves in her childhood room had been overflowingly filled with books and tiny knick-knacks that were her possessions, he now finds the wooden shelves bare save for a few, non-descript items lining the shelves. The walls of her room are skyblue and Loki can't help but to remark that they match the eyes that are now carefully watching him as he steps into her room.

He had entered her room once before. It had been at Frigga's request because she was calling everyone down to dinner and Freya had had her music so loud that she couldn't hear her mother's call.

He had lost count of the times, he had dreamt of entering her room in the dark of the night and taking her with Odin sleeping only a few metres away.

She draws him from his thoughts by cocking her brow and asking him a drawn-out 'yes' to encourage him to reveal the reason for his visit. At that, he strides towards her bed where she is sitting on with a heavy book- probably from her studies- in her lap. Without waiting for an invitation, he sits down and feigning concern and ignorance he starts: "You have been very tense lately, Freya. Has everything been alright with your studies?"

Blue eyes flash at him with indignant disbelief. Both of them know that he is feigning and that his question seems almost mocking considering everything that has happened.

Her lips twists as she thinks him mocking her with his concern that stands in stark contrast with his cold behaviour towards her in the last month. But she still answers: "No, my studies are well, brother." He feigns relief, determined to continue with his act despite her dark look at him silently demanding that he stop this. He suddenly realises her state of dress. She has surely drapped the bathing robe around her when he knocked on the door. But it still reveales- and as a result makes her much more tantalising- the bare skin of her thigh. He tries to mask his heavy breathing but, near hypnotised by her ivory flesh, he moves closer and whispers: "I'm glad. It is so important for you to be focused on your studies and going well and ensuring that you are not... _distracted_ by anything else." During his speech, his fingers had inched closer and closer to the exposed skin. His eyes were so focused on her skin and had he looked up he would have seen that her eyes were nearly as fixed on his approaching hand as his were on her. And that she tilted her head back when he finally came in contact with her thigh.

His fingers sprawl the exposed skin and it is as soft as he imagined it to be. And just as he tightens his searching fingers in a possessive grip, she knocks his hand away and jumps up.

The door bangs shut.

* * *

 _ **AN- Things are steaming up. Thank you very much for who reviewed and kudo'ed up until now. I'm very thankful for every feedback I get. You know the drill. Review and stuff. Please tell me if you think the story is moving much too fast for your liking. I'm quite worried about my pacing.**_               


	4. Chapter 4

_“For whatever we lose (like a you or a me), It's always our self we find in the sea.”- maggy and milly and molly and may, E.E. Cummings_

* * *

She has stopped acting domestic. 

Loki no longer needs to wonder what it would take. He has to admit that he was startled when she entered his car early Sunday evening when he was about to depart back to London. Considering what happened between them he would have thought that she wouldn't come back with him , genuinely fearing for her safety. She had after all run like wild banshees had been after her when he touched her.

It made him question whether he was not being presumptious about assuming she was jealous of him and Sygin just based off his gut instinct. Or if perhaps her jealousy was purely platonic in its nature and had something to do with the fact that she wished that her brother would spend more time with her in an _innocent_ manner.

Loki has always hated feeling uncertain about things. When he was younger he'd always been uncertain regarding his father's attentions and affections towards him. Since as early as five years of age, Loki had sensed that his father harboured a clear predilection towards his eldest, fair-haired sun. It wasn't as if his father treated him badly or coldly during his childhood. No, Odin had always been stern and strict but fair and nurturing. And perhaps if Loki had been able to turn a blind eye towards his father's love for Thor, maybe then Loki would have grown up with a deep and abiding love and respect for his father. 

But it had been near impossible to turn a blind eye because his father made no secret of his love for Thor and his wish that it would be Thor to take over the family business once he retired. And Loki supposed that he had at one point been interest in managing the family business. But having found no real encouragement from his father, he'd decided to become an editor.

For him uncertainty is connected to a deep sense of insecurity and self-consciousness about his worth in his family and his father's rejection of him. So it's understandable that he despises uncertainty, not only because he is sharp of mind and wants to be one step in front of everybody.

So he takes great efforts to not remain uncertain. And he supposes the falling out he had with his father was just proof his childhood insecurities. And he can't find it in himself to regret it- despite it having alienated him from his family for more than a decade- because it eliminated the only uncertain thing in his life.

He is uncertain again concerning her feelings and he dislikes that and as soon as they arrive back at his flat and she enters her room and closes the door, effectively shutting him out, he decides that he will not remain uncertain.

So he starts bringing Sygin home with him every night. He supposes that he should feel ashamed or guilty about exploiting the woman's feelings to such an extent because Sygin makes her affections for him more than apparent with her bright eyes when she looks at him and her proud little smile as they leave the office at the same time to spend the night together. But he has always had a nasty, self-serving streak in him and he finds that he has no scruples to exploit the simpering woman's affections.

At times when she winds herself around him after sex, he finds her positively pathetic. He dislikes how she seems to worship the ground he walks on. And he doesn't want _her._ And every second he spends in Sygin's company he finds his longing for  _her_ growing. For her wild and stubborn streak, for her defiant expression, for her self-deprecating affections towards him. 

He supposes that an adoring girlfriend will work well for him in his plan to find out the truth about his sister's feelings. He brings Sygin home with him. In the first night, he'd arrived him and found her sitting at the kitchen isle eating some pasta dish with her book infront of her and she'd at first looked at him with disbelieving eyes before she caught herself. When Sygin had asked her who she was, she'd introduced herself. Loki had watched his sister's every move like a hawk. But the only telling thing about her behaviour was when she'd excused herself to go to her room and before she'd disappeared down the hallway she had looked over her shoulder at him with an unreadable expression.

The next night he arrives with Sygin and there is no trace of his little sister in the living room and kitchen area. He knows that she is hiding in her room and he wastes no time with Sygin's babble.

He makes sure that he is loud and that Sygin is loud and that she will hear them through her closed door. He almost savage in his fucking but Sygin beneath him only moans wantonly and if she isn't complaining who is he to take any consideration to her.

He isn't surprised the next day when he doesn't find her in her room or in the kitchen, figuring that she has gone to university earlier so as to avoid him and Sygin in the morning. Yet he finds her avoidance not enough evidence as she could be avoiding him simply because she finds herself uncomfortable facing them after being exposed to their coupling.

So he continues this trend. He doesn't see a glimpse of his sister and were he not so painfully aware of her proximity- _at times it feels as if his whole body down to the root cells of his hair are aware of her-_ he would have even forgotten she lives with him. He is ceaseless. He continues to fuck and moan his feigned pleasures all in his search for certainty. 

And despite hoping that this night will be the one to yield results, he finds himself disappointed the next day when she again isn't there.

And as time goes on he finds himself growing exasperated.

Sygin is delighted at their _relationship._

Her emotions remain a mystery to him.

* * *

And then it happens one Friday evening.

He doesn't think she is even in the flat because there is no light coming from beneath her door. But it has become routine by now and he still roughly fucks Sygin into his mattress.

The sound of his wooden floorboard groaning makes him look up and he sees that she is standing at the open doorframe and is watching them with an indescribable expression. Green eyes stare into blue ones and he almost expected her to look down and for her cheeks to turn bright-red at having been spotted and for her to scuffle off into her room. But instead... after a few moments of uncertainty, she raises her chin and crosses her arms over her chest and remains where she was.

He can't help the small little, almost victorious smirk that curls his lips. His pace becomes quicker and Sygin moans more loudly beneath him and tells him that her orgasm is steadily approaching. But he pays no mind to her but instead keeps watching his little sister. And she looks back at with him just the same intensity. Her bright eyes almost seem to egg him on to orgasm. And when he comes he makes sure to keep his eyes on her for as long as he can stand it so that there is no mistaking what- _who-_ caused him to climax.

And thus their _perversely delicious_ little game begins. During their little routine she always watches the scene before her with analytical and cold eyes despite any of Loki's attempts to make his coupling more depraved and shocking in order to raise a reaction for her.     

But she remains watching him unfazed and Loki finds satisfaction in the fact that she is watching him. Because it isn't normal. She surely wouldn't watching him if she only felt sisterly affection towards him. 

No, she surely did not only feel platonically towards him. There had to be more.

His naughty little kitten. 

He feels tempted to address her about it. To ask her lasciviously if she wants to be in Sygin's position (or  _positions_ ) instead of just watching when he throws out Sygin the next morning and he finds her having breakfast in the kitchen reading her uni books. But despite all his want for her, a little voice in him tells him that he should wait. That it should be her approaching him. And that he should be patient. And that were he to make one wrong move, this fragile house of cards they'd built would come crashing down around them. 

Their game goes on.

And Loki waits.

* * *

Sygin is kissing him goodbye and as the woman's lips move against his, he humours her with his patience quickly thinning. She draws back and give him and bright and adoring smile and throwing her arms around his neck, she snuggles into his chest and Loki has to resist rolling his eyes.

"Will I see you later," she asks him hopefully. He shrugs his shoulders and drawls: "Yes, I'll give you a call later. Perhaps." She looks back up at him and smiles and he almost hs to extract himself from her. He closes the door when she turns around to go.

Freya is sitting at the kitchen island eating a bowl of cereal with a thick tome before her and it's just their Saturday morning routine. He would join her but she looks too _fucking_ tempting in her short shorts and with those reading glasses perched on her nose so that he figures that he wouldn't be able to  _fucking_ hold himself back if he were to remain in her presence for too long. 

So he makes to move back to his bedroom with the intent of having a shower when a soft voice holds him back: "I always thought you were so proper and decent, you know." He stops in his track and looks over his shoulders back at her. She is sitting there, still seemingly engrossed in her book but by the tense hold of her shoulders, he can tell that he didn't just imagine her speaking. 

She continues: "When I lived back in Berkshire and you used to come over on the weekends, you always seemed so refined and proper and I could never imagine you..." she trailed off at the end. During her explanation, he has turned towards. He would have just listened to her, silently rejoicing at this small little reaction he has received. But something he sees in her eyes as she continues to almost stubbornly look at her book encourages him to make his way to her with slow and measured steps. Almost like a predator stalking his prey. 

"And now," he mutters slowly looking at her through his lashes. At the sound of his smooth voice she looks up and almost seems taken aback that he had moved much closer to her. She swallows and then with her head raised high, she announces: "Now I know better." He gives her a slow, lazy smile and moves the last stride towards her.

"Now I know what you are really like." He pulls out the barhocker beside her and elegantly sits down on it. 

She is looking at him almost defiantly. He cocks his brow at her and states: "Now you see I have had a similar experience." Her defiant, self-righteous expression falls slightly and she starts looking at him with something akin to hesitance.

He goes on: "When you were in Berkshire living with mother and Odin you always seemed so innocent so  _deliciously..."_ his smile widens and he allows the next word to melt on his silver-tongue like the most delicious Bordeaux "... virginal."  _  
_

His hand snakes beneath the table and he is delighted that she has worn those shorts as his hand grabs her thigh tightly. Leaning into her he whispers: "But you are not aren't you. You're wickedly  _naughty"_ And then he is so close, the tips of their noses are brushing and he is so close that every cell in him screams to close the distance between them and to seize her pouty lips that are like a siren call.

Suddenly, a loud shrill shatters the silence and she jumps away. He resists the urge to slap his palms against the countertop in frustration and moves back in his seat. His sister has moved to answer the front door and he hears her breathing: "Thor" after unlocking the door.

Their fair-haired brother enthusiastically- _over-bearingly-_ greets her with a hug and immediately bombards their younger sibling with questions about her studies and her time in London to which she answer in vague monosyllabics. After some time their brother moves on to him but Loki doesn't rise despite seeing his attempts at a fraternal hug. Partially due to his frustration at Thor's appaling timing. But also because he wouldn't be able to explain his erection to his brother. 

And Loki finds himself frustrated that he was so close. So painfully close only to have Thor ruin it for him.

Yet Loki thinks that this won't be the last time him and his sister will find themselves in such a sinful position.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next installment is upon us and this story is becoming very naughty indeed. What do you guys think. Is it too much? I also think that Loki is becoming much darker and mor twisted in my characterisation and I wanted to ask your guys' opinion on it. I love me so dark and angsty Loki but only to a certain extent because if he becomes too much he will either become a satiric character or completely unappealing. So what do you guys think? With Freya.. I have never written a character like her before. My other OCs are usually very innocent, very sweet and self-righteous and Freya I think is different from that. What's your opinion? Do you like her? Or is she too mary-sueish?  
> I appreciate every comment and feedback


	5. Chapter 5

_"nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands"_ - _somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond, E.E. Cummings_

* * *

In the days that follow their kitchen encounter, the tension in his flat becomes near unbearable. On his side, he feels swamped by the escalation of his desire for his sister. Whereas he had previously believed that his infatuation for the younger woman was unhealthy, now he feels that he could die of longing everytime she passes by him in the flat. 

He'd known that nothing good would come of their little arrangement. 

On her side he believes that the tension had a more suspicious and wary factor. He suspects that she somehow reciprocates what he feels, as deluded and crazy as he might sound admitting it. But her desires are much outweighed by her sense of propriety and her belief in what is right and wrong. Whenever they would encounter, such as in the kitchen or in the hallway, she would look at him through the corner of her eyes with a careful and wary expression. Almost like he is a predator and she is his prey and she is just waiting for him to make one move to jump up and run away as quickly as her legs would manage. 

He continues bringing Sigyn home with him and he keeps up with his side of their little, perverse  _teté-a-teté._ But she does not. 

During the first night he believed it to be natural because of what had happened between them only hours before in the kitchen. But he'd never thought that she would stop entirely. Yet the nights would pass and he'd bring Sygin home and during sex he'd look up at the hallway and she still remained unpresent. 

And he will often find himself close, just  _so close_ to confronting her in the mornings when they silently had breakfast.

But he couldn't-  _wouldn't._

He supposes that it was the pesky moral side of him. That little part which is painfully aware of how wrong his desires for his sister are and which anchors him to reality and which tells him to abort this because there still is that narrow possibilty before they both get in too deep.

It is that side which hushes him and never ever mentions their perverse little  _spiel._ Because if he talked about it, it would become real, because it seems like it almost exists in a separate sphere. And if he mentions it, she will surely bolt and he will never see her again. 

He holds his silver-tongue, despite the fact that he feels frustrated, so  _incredibly frustrated._

* * *

 He hasn't brought Sygin home with him tonight.

The blonde had become more and more dependent on him and not even for the sake of his little plan, could he gather up the nerve for her tonight.

The woman had looked disappointed and had asked him why he didn't wish to spend the night with her and he'd had to make up an excuse about dining with his siblings. But Thor is currently in Newcastle, visiting Jane's parents and he doesn't know where Freya is. 

It is Friday night and he'd arrived home, with something akin to anticipation coursing though his blood. Because it was Friday night and he'd gotten rid of Sygin and he would arrive without the blonde on his arm to find his little sister sitting at the kitchen counter in her usual mousy, grey sweats and with her auburn hair in a messy bun. And he'd pour himself half a pint of the lager Thor had left during his last visit. And he'd sit with her. And he wouldn't be aggresive or bothersome. He'd simply sit down quietly, sipping his ale and watching her study. She would surely look up at him with her brow furrowed comically. But seeing his unwavering gaze she would look down and eventually she would return to studying. And he'd just sit and grow warmer with each sip of beer and every second of being in her presence.

But he arrives home and there is no Freya in her comfy clothes sitting at the kitchen counter and pouring studiously over some large tome. He calls her name once, twice, three times. And there is no answer. And then he goes to her room. And he finds it void of her. The whole appartment is void of her. And he shouldn't be surprised. Because it is Friday night and she is a young, attractive, university student and surely she would have plans on Friday evening with her university friends. And Loki doesn't pour himself half a pint and he doesn't sit at the kitchen counter. 

He is currently sitting on his black leather couch, midlessly looking at some re-run of an old sit-com, wishing that he could be looking at his sister's pretty features instead of the grainy image of some 80s, american show.

He gives a small sigh and tips his head back when the automatic, metallic laughter sounds from his flat screen once more in reaction to the main character, saying a funny one-liner, when suddenly his phone starts ringing. Giving a low groan and almost dreading to pick up because it is surely Sygin, calling him to ask if he changed his mind and wouldn't like to have dinner at the Chinese round the corner, he moves his body lethargically towards the table beside the couch where the phone is placed on. He picks up the receiver and drawls: "Sygin, dear, I'm just leaving with Thor and Freya to go to the restaurant now. Can I call you back later?" 

He is answered with silence instead of the blonde's irish lilt he'd expected. He furrows his brow as his...  _girlfriend..._  is not someone to usually keep quiet and he prompts again: "Sygin?"

And then: "No, it's Freya." He sits up straight at the sound of her voice. She sounds so small and far-away and he notices.

There is a beat of silence and seeing he will not say anything, she sighs and continues: "Look I wouldn't be calling if there was no other way but can you come pick me up?" And he is out the door with his car key in his hand before she has even finished her request.

It turns out that a friend of hers had dragged his little sister to a party taking place at a student housing building outside in Enfield which is halfway across London. The house was so isolated that Freya had found a bus stop only after walking for fifteen minutes, only to see that no more buses drove at 11 pm on a Friday.

He picks her up infront of a bus stop in the outerskirts of Enfield after driving up from Greenwich for half an hour. She sits own in his car and he can see the goosebumps on her exposed arms and she is shivering in the thin, blue dress she is wearing. He unbuckles his belt and taking off his black coat drapes it over her shoulders in one elegant, fluid move.

She looks up at him, feeling the fabric settle on her and gives him a nod, thanking him. Then she turns away from him and looks intently infront of her. And knowing that she would say nothing more to him other than that, Loki gives an inaudible sigh and shifts the gear of his car and starts driving. 

He's been driving for ten minutes and they are just outside of Hackney when she says: "Thank you for picking me up, again. I really had nowhere else to turn." He stops at a red traffic light and after stopping the car, he answers: "Just make sure that the next time you go to a party you stay within a 20 mile radius of the appartment. It will make things a whole more convenient for me." It is dark but with the low lighting of the street lamps he can see the tiny smile twisting those rosy lips he wants to kiss and own. 

"My friend was going to drive me back to the appartment but she got too drunk and we took her carkeys away from her. So she is sleeping in the room of another friend for the night," she explains and he nods his head. The traffic light switches to green and he continues to drive. He looks shortly towards her as he rounds a corner on to London bridge and cocking his brow he asks her: "And have you drank?" She shakes her head and tendrils of her auburn hair loosened themselves from her updo so that they now lie on her creamy shoulders.

"I have never drank," she declares, almost proudly. And then Loki decides to do something. And instead of driving home, he takes a left turn. He drives them to the pub that he and his brother would come to frequently when Thor came down to visit Loki. Upon their arrival, she looks at the drinking establishment with a scrunched nose. She turns towards him and he smirks at her confused face before he gets out of the car.

He rounds his Audi quickly and opens the door towards her, and alows his eyes to drink in the sight of her white, smooth calves as she gets out of the car and climbs up the curb.

He closes the door and then cocking his head towards the pub, he says: "Let's go in." She has her arms crossed out over her chest and as realization dawns on her face, she states almost indignantly: "Loki, I don't drink." He grins at her and sweeping his arms he states: "Congratulations, tonight will be your first time. With me." He doesn't allow his mind to dwell too long on the double meaning of his statement and taking a step towards her, he lays his arm on her shoulder. And he almost looses the thread of what he is saying because his arm is over her shoulders and he towers over her tiny form and they are so close. He notices that it's the first time.

And he wonders if she notices it too.

He catches himself before she notices anything wrong with him and continues as smoothly as before: "See it as a rite of passage, small one. Thor payed for my first pint of bear. I will pay for yours. It's how it works in our family." She is eyeing him with annoyance at his made-up tradition but he is too caught up in all of it to pay mind to her. They enter the pub and he steers her towards a small booth in a dark back corner so that they will be left alone. He'd seen some of the drunken patrons eyeing Freya when they had both entered the establishment.

When he asks her what she wants, she rolls her eyes and states: "Look there is a reason, I don't drink. It makes people act stupid and reekless." He chuckles at her and he sees her bristle at the condescending tone of it. And before she can call him on it, he cuts her off: "Only if you drink in excess. But then I suppose that you've only had Thor as an example and he isn't exactly the posterboy for responsible alcohol consumption." She is looking at him with her lips taut and starts: "Don't talk like that. Thor isn't..." He raises his hand and she trails off and he drawls: "Oh please, I beg of you do not disappoint me. I always thought you were a smart, intelligent girl. Please don't show me that you are someone who is blind to their loved ones' faults with sentimentality." She closes her mouth and he continues: "Tell me that Thor doesn't act like a stupid buffoon whenever he drinks more than a pint of beer."

She looks down at the table and he can see in her eyes that she feels appropriately rebuked and he feels a degree of self-deprication because his tongue had run with resentment and he'd possibly ruined what could've been a pleasant evening between them. But then she looks up at him and shrugging her shoulders, she states: "I don't know about alcohol. Just get me whatever you are having." And then she sits back and draws his jacket around her shoulders.

He gets them both a glass of the best red wine the pub has to offer- a full-bodied Merlot from 1990- and he proceeds to spend the evening with her watching her drink the wine with hungry eyes. It is different from what he imagined his Friday evening would be like today at two o'clock in the afternoon as he sat in his office. Instead of watching her study, he watched her drink red wine with her cheeks turning redder with each sip and talking about something or another which he was only half-paying mind to.

The thing is... His family is incredibly resistant to alcohol. He supposes it has something to do with his grandfather being Scandinavian but him and Thor and Odin and even Freya could drink copious amounts of alcohol without becoming intoxicated, currently him and his brother most of all due to their youth and their large frames.

Freya certainly hadn't inherited the family's ability to hold their drink. She had been only half-way through her first glass when she had taken off his coat and with another sip, she'd laid her elbow on the table and resting her head on her hand, she had looked up at him while he told her something about the new novel they were publishing while biting her lower lip. And the sight of her, bright-eyed and with her cheeks resembling raspberries on cream and the flesh of her lower lip turning white beneath her teeth, Loki had stumbled over his word.

She'd chuckled at him, not having missed it and after taking another long sip, she whispered, almost sensually: "What happened? Silver-tongue turn to lead?" And his adam's apple bobbed. 

She drinks another glass of the Merlot and he has to help her leave the pub when he decides they should call it an evening and return to the flat.

He almost finds himself charmed that after two glasses of red wine, which are almost standard to him, she has to hold herself upright on the lapels of his dress coat and that she is exceedingly giggly as she tells him about the time she'd treid to trick their neighbour Mrs. Hudson out of her apple pie when she was five years old. 

They arrive in the flat and she stumbles through the door and he shakes his head amusedly at her state. But then the smile is more than wiped from his face when he turns around after locking the entrance door and he finds her pulling her dress over her head and the retreating hem slowly revealing creamy, smooth skin and black lace.

The keys fall from his hand as his hold on them slackens and Loki wonders if he is having a vision. And he is sure he has never seen anything he wants more than her at that moment. And he knows that he needs to run to his room, because his last shred of rationality is slowly deserting him and he knows that at any moment he would fall over her like a starved animal.

She lets herself fall on his leather couch and he wants to pounce of her and rip the black lace which blends in with the material of the sofa off her form, so that she is ivory... _purely ivory._

He only has to take five long strides and then he is in his bedroom and has saved her from being taken advantage of in her vulnerable state. He takes one stride and the next, and the third.

And just as he is about to take the fourth, a small hand encloses his and makes him freeze in his tracks. The hand is small. And her hands are almost like that of a child, holding onto his. And his fingers twitch once, twice, thrice. In a silent promise.

"I didn't want to call you, you know," she whispers tiredly and he dare not look down at her because doesn't dare challenge his self-control. He is a man who has accepted that there will never be salvation for him to be had. He has accepted damnation, he is afraid of what this has done to his self-control. "Thor convinced me. But I was so scared calling you because I thought you were with Sygin." She gives a long exhale and he tightens his hand on hers as he feels her grip slackening with oncoming sleep. "You bring her here and I don't like it. I alway thought it would be just you and me." And then her grip slackens completely and without having to look down he realises that she has fallen asleep.

If he was a proper and responsible big brother, he would've picked her up and taken her to bed and tucked her in. A brother like Thor would have done so. But he isn't Thor and can never hope to be.

So he extracts his hand from hers and lets her lie on the sofa, semi-naked to wake up with a massive hangover the next day.

And he consoles himself thinking that he is being a responsible brother in that sense because he knows that if she spends another minute with her, he would give in to the urge of touching her.  

But if he was a responsible brother, he wouldn't want her in the first place.   

 

   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally some insight into what Freya is feeling. In vino veritas.   
> Please review and tell me what you thought of what happened in this chapter. Did you expect how Loki acted in this chapter? And what about drunk!Freya? As always I appreciate every feedback I get.   
> Love, maria


	6. Chapter 6

_"when by now and tree by leaf she laughed his joy she cried his grief bird by snow and stir by still anyone's any was all to her"-anyone lived in a pretty howtown, E.E. Cummings_

* * *

To say they became friends after that night would be incredibly out of character for him.

Loki does not have any friends.

He tried with his brother's friends back when he was a teenager and insecure and he felt like he was abnormal because he was the only boy he knew that did not befriend anyone. So he tried going to the pub one night with Fandral, but soon found himself bored by the fair-haired man's single-mindedness as he was only interested in getting the phone number of any girl sitting in the pub. He tried going on a date with Sif once. But she expressed in no uncertain terms that she was not interested in him and wouldn't likely ever be.

His _interest_ in Sif had ended as soon as she arrived screaming one morning at their house after having used the shampoo that Loki modified with green hair dye. 

And this is the story of how Sif had dyed her honey-blonde hair soot-black.

Not that any of it matters now.

_Nothing before her matters now._

He has never had a true friend in his entire life. He knows Thor fancies himself his best friend and considers him as his best friend in turn, but Loki has never shared his brother's view on that. He has always been much too jealous of his brother to build a true and genuine friendship with him.

She does not become his friend. At least in his eyes. But on the Monday after their visit to the pub he calls Thor in the middle of the afternoon from the office and asks him whether he knows at what time Freya's lectures end and where her lectures are being held. And being the responsible big brother that Loki expects Thor to be he has the answer to the questions and gives them to Loki with a hint of disaproval in his voice that Loki would not know these things.

And then Loki has left the office early and finds himself leaning against the hood of his car waiting for her. And she comes out of the lecture building after the main wave of students have passed by him. And her eyes widen as they land on him. He in turn gives her a small smirk with his arms crossed over his chest.

And he takes her to lunch. They sit in a small French Bistro just on the outskirts of Chelsea and the establishment is decorated several Monet replicas which prompt her to tell him about French impressionism while he sips a glass of 2005 Bordeaux and watches her hungrily as she discusses the different interpretations of _The Water Lilly Pond._

She does not tell him anything new. Loki knows 99 percent of the things she excitedly tells him but he has no heart to reveal that to her. So he simply nods his head and feigns interest and surprise at the appropriate times.

And as he sees her bright smile when he commends her on her knowledge about this, Loki figures that it is worth it.

He takes her to a modern arts exhibition in the gallery one of his university colleagues has just inaugurated. He does not understand the appeal of several canvases which are blank except for a coloured dot in the centre. But she seems to enjoy it and he figures that he prefers to listen to some inexperienced art critics obnoxious interpretation of the art pieces than to have her at another student party, where he would not know what she was up to. 

They start to spend a lot more time together. At times when they are having breakfast together before he goes off to work and she leaves for her lectures he can see her looking at him contemplatively, surely wondering why he now interacts with her when before he actively ignored her. 

But she never asks him out loud. And he thanks whatever deity there is for that. Because although he is painfully aware of the issue-  _which is truly just worsening day-by-day-_ he won't say it out loud. 

And he wonders if she somehow feels that. 

He starts to disregard Sygin. And the blonde notices it and makes sure that he is conscious of it too. But despite daily asking him if they could do something again or if he wanted to come to her flat, she accepts his refusal with sad and disappointed eyes. And Loki is able to just ignore them. 

* * *

"Loki have you called Thor already," she asks him while packing away groceries. He closes the fridge door behind him after shelving a cartoon of eggs and picking up a gallon of milk, he furrows his brow and asks her: "No, why?" He has his back turned to her but he smirks as he can feel her accusing glare at his back.

"I told you that Thor called last night and wanted to speak to you," Freya stated accusingly and after putting away the milk, he turned back towards her and giving her a charming smile he drawled: "Dearest Freya, you know that I do not usually return Thor's call as he only calls when he wants me to go drinking with him and his army mates." She shoved a packet of butter in his chest and stated with annoyance: "Well this was important, Thor wanted to remind you that it's mum's sixtieth birthday this week." 

On Saturday they make their way to West Berkshire to celebrate his mother's birthday. It's a small and intimate affair with only his father, his brother and his wife, as well as him and his sister celebrating with their mother at her favourite restaurant.

He figures that a few weeks ago he would've felt incredibly uncomfortable in such a setting and situation. The fact that Loki distanced himself completely from the family for thirteen years still looms above them like a dark cloud that he cannot hope to dispell. His father and his brother still talk animatedly between the two of them with Thor only making minimal efforts to include Loki in the conversation, while Jane excitedly asks Freya how she is finding uni life.

But he doesn't feel uncomfortable. He is sitting beside Freya who looks ravishing in her green dress and she is mindful of him and converses with him periodically while answering Jane's endless questions. And every time she turns towards him and starts talking to him, he can't help the bright smile that twists his lips when confronted with her attention. 

He lays his arm around her chair the first time she talks to him. As the night progresses and the wine flows, he becomes bolder and eventually he has his arms around her shoulders with his fingers drawing lazy circles on her exposed shoulder.

He simply chooses to ignore his family's astounded expressions.

* * *

His mother asks him to lunch the following Tuesday.

Their main course of beef and vegetables has just arrived to the table when his mother states out-of-the-blue: "I am very happy that you and Freya seem to be getting along so well." He studies his mother for a few seconds but can't see anything hidden behind her smile and he nods his head. His mother has always been an open book to him and very differently from her son she never seems to have a hidden agenda. 

"She is an intelligent, resourceful girl. And my sister. Why would we not get along," Loki asks calmly while cutting into his filet steak. Freya continues smiling at him and shrugging her shoulders, she explains: "It's not a requirement that siblings get along well." She throws him a pointed look at that. "But I talked to Freya last night and she seems so happy. She is really happy living with you and at university. And she seems so excited about her boyfriend."

And then he feels as if a bucket of ice-cold water had been unloaded on him and he does not care that he is looking at his mother with disillusioned and panicked eyes. And that he has grown pale- paler even than usual. And then he stammers: "B-b- Boyfriend?"

His mother is looking at him with furrowed brows and slowly states: "Yes. I thought she'd told you." Loki manages to shake his head. "That is strange. She has been seeing him almost since the start of term." A causticness grips him and he grows hot momentarily before he cools off almost immediately. And he rearranges his face and nodding his head, he states: "I'm sure she was going to inform me soon. But now enough of that. How did you like our present, my dear?"   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this might be the shortest chapter but it just felt right ending it after that scene. What will happen now, I wonder.   
> Again any reviews are welcomed and cherished.   
> Love, Maria


	7. Chapter 7

_"Then shall i turn my face,and hear one bird sing terribly afar in the lost lands"- It May Not Always Be So; And I Say, E. E. Cummings_

* * *

He only returns long past midnight.

He did not go back to the office after the lunch with his mother and he supposes that might have been a mistake because his employer is very particular about workhours and presence. And despite Loki's impecable record, he knows that his absence this week will reflect quite badly on him.

But he hadn't thought about that. And if he had, he had found that he didn't care.

Because his mother had left him standing in the middle of bustling Soho with a sinking feeling in his gut and a sharp pain in his chest and his feet had carried him to the pub just round the corner.

The bartender- some middle-aged man with shoulder-length gristly hair wearing a Tottenham jumper- had eyed condescendingly when Loki ordered pure-malt whisky. And by the time Loki was on his third order of the spirit, the greying man had not even attempted to hide his disapproving shake of the head as he served liquor to a man at two in the afternoon.

And Loki found that he couldn't even muster the strength to retort to the judging man. He did not care.

As long as the man served him his whisky and allowed him to sit at the pubcounter, brooding, Loki did not care to argue with the man. He even found that it would have impacted him negatively if the man was the pubowner and decided to throw him out.

As Loki had looked into the glass and swirled around the amber-coloured liquid, he thought about why the mention of her boyfriend impacted him this greatly. He lusts after his sister but never had he entertained the thought that anything would come off it.

He had not yet become so wretched that he would willingly and knowingly destroy her life.

It shouldn't be a surprise that she has a boyfriend. His sister is an attractive girl- _he is painfully aware of that-_ and surely she would have found someone that was interested enough in her to persue her. 

And he shouldn't care.

Because he has always known that Odin's two golden children would lead examplary lives with good spouses, raising a proper and wholesome family.

It is always him in his mind that ends up alone- forever the bachelor- silently flounting Odin's tradition in his face by not adhering to it.

Despite knowing all this, the thought of family reunions with him by his lonesome self while both Thor and Freya arrived with their families caused his hand to tighten on the glass in despair.

And Loki realized that afternoon that he is terrified of being alone.

And he is utterly intolerant and judgemental towards almost every person he meets. He finds faults with everyone- even Frigga who he had always felt closest to in his life- which makes him not want to necessarily spend too much time in their presence.

And that did not bode well with his fear.

And it made him realise that there is one person in his life that he can stand. And it's Freya. And he realises that he could happily have her living in his flat for the rest of their lives, watching her pour over large, economy tomes while auspiciously catching a glimpse of her over his newspaper while they sit at the breakfast table.

And then he realises something else. And he doesn't dare to finish the thought as soon as it crosses his mind.

And laying his head in his hand, he asks himself how on earth he had permitted _that_ to happen. 

He is just about able to look the door behind him and then he sways on his feet. His flat is dark and empty but he still eyes the furniture between him and his bedroom as they suddenly become dangerous obstacles in his mind.

Steeling himself he makes his way towards his bedroom. It has never been as difficult as it is now. Normally he is able to cross his living room and enter his bedroom with a few quick strides of his long legs. But this night he finds himself bumping against the dining table and holding onto the glass, he makes a note to remove it as he rarely uses it anyways. 

As he has made his ways past the living room, he enters the hallway and he can see the open door to his room but then he feels light-headed and instead of going straight on, he sways to his right. He feels his shoulder impacting with the closed door to her room. 

Instead of pushing himself off and continuing in his trajectory, he lingers. Freya... he doesn't know if she is here. Had his mind been more lucid he would have reasoned that it would be highly improbable for her to be anywhere else. But she seems to defy his expectations quite frequently- he'd never dreamt that she had a boyfriend- so he does not rule out the possibility that the room is bare of her. 

Of Freya... Her tiny, delicate figure- like a little bird- with her pretty face. And her warm smile. 

Little Freya whom he just wants to devour whole. 

He turns slightly towards the door and bangs his right palm against the ungiving wood. 

And after a few seconds of resting his cheek against the cool wood, he pushes himself off and strides-  _sways-_ towards his bedroom. 

He can't even find the strength to take off his suit and then simply shrugging off his coat and loosening his tie, he collapses onto his bed.

He doesn't know how long he lies there but he is finding it increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open and just as he feels about to drift off into sleep a tiny hand lies itself onto his forehead. He feels so cold- the temperature has dropped significantly as winter approaches- he has just returned from the outside where it is so cold. And then there is the soft hand which is so warm.

It warms him to his core. And when he actively realises who the hand belongs to, it incends him.

With want and longing. With rage. 

And it is that cocktail of emotions and his drunkenness which causes him to flip them so that she is now lying on her back while he is on top of her. 

She is looking up at him with wide eyes at the sudden and unexpected movement and even in the dark he can see her eyes light with fear as his long and spidery hands come to rest on her throat. 

And then he hisses down at her- his face is twisted into an ugly grimace: "You are really stupid, are you not." He can feel her drily swallowing beneath his hand and he tightens his grip just a fraction of an inch. But the slight motion is enough to cause her breathing to quicken with panic as he now feels her chest rising much more forcefully beneath him. And he finds that he doesn't care if his tall and heavy form is crushing her small delicate frame. 

"I shouldn't be surprised really. It's a recurring trend with the children of Odin," he leers down at her. "Thor is an imbecile who believes force and violence is the answer to all of life's problems," he scoffs and her hands- previously so tender and warm on his forehead- have gripped his tightly. He doesn't even notice that her fingernails are biting into his skin.

"I'm a fool," he spits. He doesn't elaborate his reasons for the claim. She knows them well enough. Even if she is not aware of them. Her hands have begun to claw at him and he realises that his grip on her throat has become tighter and tighter. And he finds that he doesn't care.

"And you are truly stupid for coming into the lion's den, little bird," he whispers at her as he leans his head down. They are so close that their noses are almost touching. 

She is looking up at him in panic and his grip must be tight enough to be cutting off her airways now. She whispers- raspily: "Loki, you are hurting me." He is looking into her eyes now. Wide and filled with fear- of him, he notes dully. And innocent and framed with dark lashes.

And without realising it his grip lessens. Now his hand only lies at the base of her throat. And he becomes aware of how hot and soft she is underneath him. And his cock is throbbing because he longs to feel more of her. He rolls himself into her.

Her breath catches.

And he mutters: "Does it feel like that when that boy touches you?"

His head feels unbearably heavy. He lies his head down into the crook of her neck.

Before he drifts off to sleep, he states petulantly: "It should've been just you and I."

The last thing he knows is that her arms encircle him.

* * *

He wakes up the next morning with his head pounding and full recollection of what happened the night before. 

Not surprisingly, she is not there. And he knows that she hopes that he will not remember anything considering his unlucidness last night. And that she will just pretend as if nothing had happened. 

As if he hadn't lied on top of her and her breath had caught at their closeness.

He stands up slowly and he is still in his work clothes from last night and before he goes to the kitchen he changes into his jersey top and bottoms.

He finds her standing at the kitchen counter in that delectable ivory silky night gown she owns with a cup of tea in her hand while she looks with pensive eyes out the kitchen window.

At the sound of him approaching, she looks up and he sees her face fall first before she gives him an unsure mimic of her smile.

She begins her game of pretend by asking him: "Would you like some tea?" He doesn't answer her and he sees her smile falter slightly.

He holds her gaze for as long as he can keep it, challenging her. But she seems not too keen to engage in whatever he wants from her as she quickly looks down and starts busying herself with the tea kettle.

He steps fully into the kitchen and approaches her as she fusses with the appliance. He comes closer to the nervous and fiddly girl. And then when he is close enough his hand shoots out and encircles her wrist.

She flinches away from him and her grip loosens on her cup so that it is sent hurling to the floor.

The tension that had been building up between them climaxes with the shatter of the cup.

He traps her between the fridge and his body and seeing her struggle he raises both his hands and rests them on either side of her head. He has caged her now fully. 

She is looking down from him and he can see her swallow consecutively in nervousness. 

He hisses down: "Stop running from me." He leans down so that their faces are now almost level and she has turned her face away from him. And he had wanted to kiss her. But he settles for resting his forehead against her temple. 

"You're always running from me," he whispers. He sees her eyes flicker towards him, despite her apprehension. 

And whatever she sees from the corner of her eyes causes her to pause. 

And then slowly- almost reluctantly- she starts to turn towards him. He raises his head slightly to allow her the freedom of movement but they are still so close that their nosetips brush against one another. 

And then she is facing him full on and it would be so easy to cross those few inches and claim her lips. And he doesn't even make it a secret that he is looking at her pouty lips. 

And then the doorbell rings and he lets out a string of curses. 

Her rigid frame softens and he wrenches himself from his position to open the door. 

It is Sygin who is looking at him with wide and hopeful eyes. At the sight of him, the blonde jumps up and embraces him with her arms tight around his neck. They move- she hasn't let go off him- into the flat and he is able to close the door despite the blonde's enthusiasm. 

"I've missed you," she purrs into his ear. His eyes flicker back towards the kitchen to see her standing there, now appearing even smaller than usual, with her arms slung around her frame. 

He pulls away from the blonde slightly and then says: "Now is really not a good time..." Her face falls at his words and she whispers, a hurt tone clearly audible: "Aren't you glad to see me?" He resists the urge to roll his eyes and appeases her: "Of course I have but Freya and I were just discussing something important." 

Her pretty face lighten and she says: "Oh! I'm sure Freya won't mind postponing the discussion. Will you, Frey?" At the sound of her name, the girl-  _she was trembling, it was slight but he could see her form distinctly shaking-_ looks towards them. She swallows before the girl whispers: "Of course not" and averts her face from them.

Loki quells the disappointment he feels. Sygin is already pushing him towards the bedroom. He dislodges his hand from hers and whispers: "Go ahead. I just have to say one more thing."

And then he strides towards her. And then when he is standing so close- his huge frame dwarfs hers- he whispers caustically: "You may have fooled me before. But no more. I know now that you are just as foul as I am concerning this."

He feels her eyes on him as he goes to join Sygin.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels like forever since I last updated. And I'm sorry for the long wait especially considering the cliffhanger.   
> I hope this chapter satisfies you. And I will be updating soon.   
> Please don't forget to review and tell me what you thought. I appreciate all feedback.  
> Love, Maria


	8. Chapter 8

_"i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens"- somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond, E. E. Cummings_

* * *

He closes the door behind Sygin after pushing her out-  _none too gently-_ and turns towards the empty flat. 

And then he finds himself striding towards her bedroom. He knows he shouldn't go to her. His caustic and venomous words from before still ring in his ears and he is sure that they will argue. Because he will insist they talk and she will fight him after the accusations he hurled at her. 

She is not the adoring and submissive type that Sygin is. Whereas the blonde simply seems to accept his indifference and almost adores him the more for it, Freya is fiery and fierce when challenged. And she refuses to submit to him.  

And Loki can not find it in himself to resent her for that. It had been fiery and angry eyes that had pulled him to her in the first place. 

He raps his knuckle against the door and softly calls her name. He decides to grant her the courtesy of announcing his arrival before barging into her room.

As predicted by him, she doesn't answer. He rolls his eyes at her predictable sulkiness and pushing down the handle of the door, he opens the door to her bedroom.

And then he finds himself standing there shell-shocked. He expected to be greeted by the sight of her sitting on her bed, her rosy lips in a pretty pout and for her to look up at him with daggers in her eyes at his disregard of her refusal to grant him entrance to her room. 

But that is not the sight that meets him as he stands at the doorway. The bed is empty. And her hardwood desk is empty. And her entire room is bare of her.

He furrows his brow. And then after a few seconds of looking into the gaping emptiness, he turns on his heel and crossing the hall, he wrenches open the door to the bathroom and enters. He completely disregards the courtesy of knocking at the door. But he needn't bother anyways.

Because the bathroom is as empty of her as her bedroom is.

And there reallys isn't another place in his flat that she could be. He had just left the bedroom with Sygin and he is sure that she hadn't been there. The kitchen and living room are also decidedly empty of her.

Without paying mind that he is still in his sleepingwear, he crosses his flat in three quick strides and picking up his carkey on the bowl at the entrance he leaves the flat.

* * *

When he arrives back to his home, he is still without her but now with a very prominent feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. 

He had gone to the library of her university seeing that it would be probably the most likely place she would go to on a Saturday afternoon if she wasn't at the flat. But he had roamed the halls of the building, earning the odd look periodically from other students, and he hadn't found her anywhere.

Exiting the library, he had approached a girl he had seen his sister leaving a lecture with at the beginning of the week but she hadn't known where Freya had gone to either.

And she wouldn't answer any of his calls.

"Good Lord, just answer the goddamned phone, Freya," he exclaims into the speaker of his cellphone, leaving her what has to be the tenth message as his call is redirected to her voicemail. He closes the door behind him and then he collapses on the sofa, feeling exhausted by his frantic search of her. 

He starts feeling defeat crawling into him.

Because his little sister could have gone anywhere. And he could search all throughout London but she would still be lost to him. Because she always runs from him.

She is constantly running from him. And just when he feels he is able to grasp at her with his fingertips, she once more just dances out of his reach.

And he is tired- _so tired-_ of it. 

The shrill shrieking of his phone startles him and then picking up the receiver without looking at the number on the display, he drawls while passing a hand over his weary face: "Loki Odinson."

"Loki, what happened between you and Frey," he hears the voice of his older brother exclaim down the phone and he rolls his eyes as he finds that he has even less patience for his brother at the moment. 

He drawls, trying to appear as level and unaffected as possible: "Why would you think anything happened, brother?" The tall blonde huffs down his ears and then spits: "I don't know maybe because she just arrived at my doorstep looking as if she has gone through hell."

He exhales shakily as his sister's location is revealed to him. He hears himself mutter: "I'm coming." And before his brother can see anything else, Loki has hung up the phone and left the flat.

* * *

As he looks at the clock on the armateure of his car, he realises that he has never made the drive up to Leeds a quickly as this time. But the two of hours he had driven still seemed to stretch on endlessly to him as he was on the road.

He exits his car and finds Thor already standing at the entrance of his and his wife's little semi-detached just outside of central Leeds.

He can see that despite the wary and suspicious expression, Thor is currently eyeing him with, his sentimental brother moves to draw him into a fraternal hug as Loki ascends the steps to the door.

But Loki finds that he has even less patience for his brother's sentimentality at this moment and simply breathes past the man, effectively avoiding the greeting.

"Where is she," Loki demands as he stands in the foyer of Thor's house and looking slightly stung by his brother's ignorance of him, he mutters: "Guest bedroom." And Loki is ascending the stairs before Thor has even finished speaking. 

And then once he has arrived at the top level of his brother's home and he finds himself before the bedroom he usually stays in during his rare visits to Leeds, he wrenches open the door mindlessly.

And he finally is faced with the sight that he had longed for all afternoon. Little Freya. With her knees drawn to her chest. And a pretty pout on her rosy lips. And glaring daggers at him out of her hazel eyes.

_His knees buckle._

It's only when she looks away from him and her gaze softens considerably that he notices that his brother's wife is sitting on the edge of the bed, clutching a mug containing a warm beverage. "Could you leave us for a moment, Jane?" 

His brother's wife gives her a long and questioning look but whatever she interprets from his sister's soft gaze causes her to stand and eyeing him with trepidation, she leaves the room, closing the door behind her. 

She is actively not looking at him as she has her head turned sideways and away from him and he decides with a shake of his head that he will say nothing more than: "Come on. Let's go. I want to get back to London before midnight." 

Her head snaps towards him and she is looking at him incredulously and then her eyes take on a hard and incensed note and she spits: "I'm not going back." He buries his hand in the pockets of his trousers and then drawls as if she is boring him greatly: "Stop being difficult, Freya." She stands up then and exclaims: "I'm not being difficult. I'm not going back." 

She crosses her arms over her chest and then she declares: "I'm moving out. I knew that this arrangement was a terrible idea." He brushes off his annoyance at her dismissive words, figuring that she is only stating in the heat of her anger and to try and hurt him as much as he must have hurt her with his words. 

"Stop being such a child, Freya," he spits and he can see her nostrils flare at him calling her infantile. "You live with me now. All your possessions are in the flat and you still have three years of study at LSE." She is shaking her head furiously and exclaims poisonously: "I'll transfer to Reading or Leeds. I'll live with Thor or my parents. I'll do whatever just to be rid of you." 

And he staggers back at her last words. And he knows that his face must be obvious with the effect her words have on him. And he feels as if she has punched him in the stomach.

He sees her eyes falter at the sight of his reaction to her words. Her eyes are no longer angry and hateful for a few seconds and he sees her lips part. He recovers as his immediate reaction is replaced by anger and a hot and urging feeling in his stomach that he would characterise as something akin to urgency.

He swoops towards her and his hand grabs at her long hair. He takes a second to remark that her hair feels thick and soft and silky in his hands and he wonders what it would feel like wound tightly around his wrist. He pulls her towards him and she exclaims in pain at his pull on her scalp. And then he leans down so that his face is even closer to hers. 

"You'll come with me even if I have to pull you all the way to London by your hair," he spits at her. Her eyes are wide and frightful and he feels no remorse at inflicting this upon her, especially after her hurtful words. He figures it's only fair for her to feel an inch of the pain he had felt.

Her lower lip is trembling and she whispers: "Thor will stop you." And he sees her words for what they are. Her last attempt at opposing him. He chuckles darkly and he looking down intensely at her with a menacing smile on his lips, he whispers: "I'd like to see him try."

He means every word. She was his. He'd laid claim to her and her soul sometime ago. And not even the devil himself would prevent him from having her.

He lets go off her hair and then he declares: "I will be waiting in the car." And then he turns on his heels and leaves her behind.

* * *

It's midnight when they arrive back at the flat. She has been silent all the way from Leeds and he hadn't feel inclined either to make conversation with her.

But now as she moves towards her bedroom and he looks at her hunched-over form he states: "You must know." She pauses with her hand on the handle of her door. She doesn't look towards him but he knows she is listening to him. So he continues: "You'll never be rid of me." His gaze intensifies and he mutters: "You must know that, surely."

She doesn't answer him. After a while, she pressed down the handle of the door and slips into her room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Installment. You will see that i kept my promise about updating soon. *So proud of myself* Thank you so much for the feedback last chapter.  
> I'm so happy that this story is being so well received.  
> You know the drill: Leave me a comment. Feedback is much appreciated and keeps me writing.  
> Love, Maria


	9. Chapter 9

_"Yet they’d all despair, for if here was there we wouldn’t be we."- If, E. E. Cummings_

* * *

It is late at night and he is pouring over a first draft that had been assigned to him for editing from his superior. His shoulders are aching from his hunched-over position sitting at the kitchen table but he has to have read the draft until the next morning.

It's his fault that he has to sit here at three o' clock in the morning as the display on the electric oven tells him, still only halfway through the dry historical tragedy. His boss had given him the assignment three days ago. But three days ago everything had happened from him finding out she had a boyfriend and from her running away from him. And everything had gotten delayed because of that.

He wonders how his boss would respond if he told him that he had been unable to focus on his exercise because his little sister had gotten a boyfriend.

He has to re-read a sentence chronicling the protagonist's conversation with Napoleon as it is incredibly badly formulated when a cup with steam coming up from the top is put down in front of him. Apparently he had been so focused on his task and dulled by exhaustion that he missed the sound of the coffee machine working.

He looks up from the marked draft to see her sitting down at the table infront of him. She is holding her own mug of coffee in her hand, stirring with her delicate fingers gripping the spoon. Her skin is marred by the dark shadows under her eyes and just for a second- _he was never weak-hearted before_ \- he allows himself to hope that she has been just as affected as he is.

"I did not like it," she muttered and the frown lines around the corner of her lips deepened. Her hazel eyes looked up at him and with a dark look in them, she stated: "I did not like you accusing me for having a boyfriend. It was badly done, Loki."

He proceeds to tap his pen against the paper. He meets her look dead-on, silently communicating to her that he will not back down from this. That despite the fierceness and the spirit of hers he adores, he will meet it with just as much determination and want. She is shaking her head and says simply: "You had no right."

That causes him to scowl deeply and he mutters darkly: "I had every right." And he means those words, she can't know how much he means them.

Because she is his.

Has been his since the first time he had laid eyes on her. Not even god himself, with making her be his sibling, would dispel his claim.

Her look at him is unreadable and she whispers: "I was going to tell you. I only wanted us to progress a bit further before I tell you." Loki grows angrily agitated at her renewed attempt to divert the conversation from the real matter at hand when they are just on the cusp of touching it. He shakes his head and venomously spits: "You know that isn't the issue."

And despite already having the clearest and fairest skin Loki had seen on anyone beside himself, she grows pale around her nose. And he sees her mouth which had previously been poised to discuss with him, clamp shut. And with his new accusation, he has clearly caught her off guard. And it makes Loki wonder whether ever before in her life she had been confronted with those ugly and uncomfortable, terrible, dark truths as he does with her.

He thinks not.

Freya has always appeared to be much too comfortable in dwelling in ignorance.

He stands up from his chair and in three quick strides he has rounded the table. He grabs the back of her chair and turns it towards him and he sees her eyes grow wide at his brusque movement of her. He leans down and resting his hands on the armrests of the chair, he cages her. And then he is leaning down towards her and she hasn't turned away from him.

And he wonders if that is perhaps because it is three o' clock in the morning and they have been laid bare before each other. And in the darkness of the flat, only broken by the soft, dull light of the kitchen lamp, every convention they know has been laid aside.

"What is this game, brother," she whispers, almost desperately when only a hair's breadth separates them. He continues nonetheless and soon the tips of their noses are touching each other. "'Tis a game of want and wanting," he whispers down at her and then tilting his head only slighty so as not to loose contact with her for a mere second, he lays his lips upon hers.

They are soft- much softer than he dreamed about, much softer than he could ever imagine- and she is warm beneath him. And as his lips part to envelop hers, so do hers and she lets out a shaky breath. And her palms come to rest upon his chest.

She trembles against his chest.

And he feels his heart explode.

And years of want and emotional despair and guilty are being poured into this kiss. So much so that he is sure that when they separate- if they ever do- she will know all of his soul.

She pushes lightly against his chest and Loki draws away as he needs to come up for air. As soon as his lips have released hers, she whispers: "We cannot." But she does not push him away and as she is not displaying her skittish qualities, he lays his lips upon hers once more. Her hands turn to fists on his shirt, almost as if she is holding her to him.

"It's not right," she whispers when they separate once more. But then she is planting small, innocent pecks on his lips that threaten to make him loose the last, desperate grip on his sanity.

She exhales shakily: "We should not." And they are still kissing and amidst their feverish caresses he whispers: "Do you not see that what is between us cannot be judged by mere earthly standards?" And his arms encircle her and pull her to him, molding her tiny body to his soft form. Almost as if he fears that she will be taken from him in the next second.

"We cannot," she repeats feably and he starts kissing down her elegant neck, trying to seize every part of her for himself. As if contradicting her own words, she arches into him. He looks up after having kissed enough of her neck for now.

And he is looking at her. She is almost completely out of her chair and suspended to his body simply through his embrace and he whispers down at her: "You cannot escape it. And even if I could, I would not release you from it." He shakes his head, emphasising his words: "Not when I know you exist."

She studies his face and whatever she reads in his expression causes her to give up the last of her resistance and she melts against him. And time stops as they hold each other.

* * *

With morning comes sobering realisation and they let go off each other.

They let go off each other. Now that the light of day streams into the kitchen and lights it up, they can no longer hide in the darkness. And Loki feels as if the air beneath them crackles with the tension and discomfort they feel.

After passing a hand to adjust his mussed hair, he looks down at the girl who has settled back in her chair. Unsurprisingly, she is looking to her side and away from him, as if she can't bear the sight of him.

And he feels disappointment spreading itself in his gut.

She is always running from him.

Whenever he feels that he is just about to graze her with his fingertips she again dances just out of his reach.

Not bothering to hide his obvious distaste at her reaction, he states: "I have to get to work. I won't be back until late tonight." Then he turns on his heel, not waiting for her reaction and stalks to his room.

True to his words, Loki does not return until close to midnight. But, much to his chagrin, he is not nearly as indifferent to her as he wishes his words this morning had sounded to her. While he had a meeting with his boss, the only thing he thought about were those soft lips and the taste of vanilla and strawberries from her lipbalm.

She is waiting for him in the same chair, she had been sitting in this morning and Loki wonders whether she has even moved from her position this morning. Rationally, he knows that it's ridiculous to assume that she has spent the entire day sitting there where he had left her this morning. But he still can't help wondering about it because she looks just like he left her this morning. Looking even smaller than she usually does. And with a near miserable expression on her face. 

And when he sees her looking up at him at his arrival with those sad and guilty eyes, he has to resist the urge to throw his keys across the flat in anger. Because he can't bear to see her feeling so guilty over what happened between them.

It's his turn to look away from her then. Because he fears that otherwise he would loose his head with her. And he knows that screaming at her would not get him anywhere.

He has no patience to deal with her and her stupid guilt at the moment. So he decides that despite her quite obvious wish to talk to him, he will stride past her and into the sanctuary of his room.

But his plans are cut short when he is just about to stride past her and she whispers: "Loki..." And immediately before her utter of his name can have any effect on him, he cuts her off and hisses through his teeth: "Don't. I can't even bear to look at you."

She exhales shakily and he knows without having to look at her that he has hurt her with his venomous hiss. _Good,_ he thinks cruelly.  _Let her be hurt. I'm sure that all the pain will never measure to those years of torment she has put me under._ And he knows rationally that she has never consciously or willingly hurt or tormented him as he does with her now. 

But he wishes to punish her for not wanting him as he much as he does her. And he does not care that he sounds petty doing so.

He is just about to continue walking when he feels a small hand encircle his wrist. And it roots him to the spot. But he still does not look at her. Stubbornly and defiantly.

He tightens his jaw as she whispers: "We need to talk... About yesterday..." He shakes his head sharply once and she quietens at his brusque gesture and he explains in distaste: "If you are going to say how wrong and disgusting it was, spare me please." 

He can't resist looking at her through the corner of his eyes and he sees her lower her head as if in shame. Her grip loosens on his wrist and her tiny hand wanders down. And then she is holding his hand and he has to suppress the raise of his brow. Because she is holding his hand and he would've thought that any contact between them after what happened last night would be utterly distasteful to her.

"I thought it felt good as well. Don't doubt that for a second," his head snaps towards her and at her confession he can no longer pretend to be indifferent. She feels his gaze on her because she looks up at him teary-eyed: "But we can't."

Anger has been bubbling in his gut since this morning and it overflows now and he violently wrenches his hand out of her grip, with such a force he is sure to have hurt her, and he spits: "Why not?"  

She is looking up at him incredulously with a facial expression that says 'isn't it obvious'. And at that he kneels down so that he is face to face with her and he begs her- _he has never begged so earnestly in his life before and he begins to hate her for what she has reduced him to:_ "Who'd care? Who would you hurt by loving me?" 

"Everyone," she exclaims and looks at him frantically. Her hands come to rest upon his cheeks in her passion and he indulges himself by leaning into her touch. "Mother and Father and Thor and Sygin..." He cuts her off and spits: "I care nought for Sygin." And she looks at him disbelievingly and states: "She is your girlfriend. You should care for her pain, Loki." 

And her impassioned defence of this woman whom she knows next to nothing of makes Loki only want her all the more. 

And he wants-  _needs-_ her to want him with that same desperation.

He moves in to kiss her. But she seems to have predicted his move because she draws back away from him, leaving him empty. And she shakes her head again. Sadly.

"It matters not how desperately we want something if it's not right," she whispers and stands.

And Loki watches her as she disappears into her room.  

       

   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid the developments of this chapter are much too rushed. Please tell me what you thought. I'm so happy this story is being so well-received despite the complicated subject-matter. And I really don't want to screw it up.


	10. Chapter 10

_"and we will pass the simple ugliness of exact tombs,where a large road crosses and all the people are minutely dead. Then you will slowly kiss me"- Notice The Convulsed Orange Inch of Moon, E.E. Cummings_

* * *

His arms are crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed in what could only be described as unadultered, caustic jealousy. 

Sygin keeps pawing at him and he roughly shrugs off the woman's hands as he watches the couple sitting across from him over his parents' old oak heirloom table like a hawk.

But they don't notice him. A small and content smile curls his little sister's lips and her hands are resting on the upper arm of the boy beside her and she is looking to Loki's right at their brother who is talking animatedly to her boyfriend.

Not even had he wanted to would he be able to approve of or appreciate Freya's new boyfriend. Whenever Thor and Frigga talked about the fair-haired boy and how 'appropriate' and _fucking_  'proper' he was for Freya, Loki would have to physically hold himself back from lunging off his chair and running out of the room. Or from scratching his ears out until his eardrums bled.

And at night he would lie awake in his bed at his parents' house with Sygin wrapped tightly around him, and he would look up at the ceiling, seeing nothing but thinking that only a wall separated him from _her._

Her smile widens and she chuckles softly and the boy turns around and lies his hand ontop of hers, still determinedly fixed on his arm- _as if she wants to fucking prove something-_ and he can hear the white noise of Sygin talking at him.

At the fond smile that the boy (Loki can't even recall the boy's name- he refused to learn it upon their introduction) throws at her over his shoulders, her eyes soften.

And out of the corner of his eyes, Loki sees Odin giving the boy an approving nod and smile.

And it just becomes too fucking much.

He pushes his chair back, uncaring of the loud and scraping sound the friction between the chair's legs and the hardwood floor of the dining room cause. He does not care that Sygin is thrown off the by the momentum and abruptness of his rising. 

And he doesn't fucking care that everyone is looking at him questioningly as to what has caused this behaviour.

He exits the dining room in the middle of dinner, which is something that he has been taught his entire life was the pinnacle of bad behaviour.

And the only thing he cares about is that he can feel her sad eyes on the skin of his nape.

* * *

He feels her approach before he consciously realises it. 

He is looking over the dark surface of the pond, the grass wet with dew beneath his leather shoes and the cigarette between his fingers the only thing warming him in the cool night. 

His eyes are unseeing and then his skin starts to scream before he hears the soft patter of her approach.

He doesn't turn towards her, not even when she is standing beside him and her arms are crossed over her chest and she is rubbing her arms to keep herself warm despite her overcoat. 

He takes a deep drag of his cigarette.  _Anything to fucking drown out the memory of her softness of the taste of her tongue._

It is her who breaks the silence: "Sygin wanted to come after you. But I figured that you weren't really in the mood." 

His cigarette has now burned out and he throws the remainder of it on the ground, stomping the lit tabac with the tip of his shoes- Odin hates it, which is mostly the reason he does it.

He tips his head back and blinks once, twice, three times up at the starless sky. And then she breathes his name and he fucking loses it. 

His head snaps towards her and he hisses: "What are you trying to prove exactly, Freya?" Her eyes widen momentarily but he figures that it might be because of the abruptness of his question and less about the content of it. She catches herself quickly and then shaking her head she tells him: "I'm not trying to prove anything, brother. I wouldn't know why you would assume that I am."

He scoffs humourlessly, darkly, venomously and with a mocking smirk he tells her: "The lingering and caring touches, the soft smiles, the fond looks. Really, Freya."

Her brow furrows and now with a hint of exasperation in her eyes she remarks: "James is my boyfriend..." James, the prick's name is James and Loki wants to fucking drown himself in the pond. "It's only natural for me to be affectionate to him. " Loki rolls his eyes and the gesture seems to finally make her snap and she bites back: "Not everyone finds it right to treat their partner like shit."

The thick, dark venom of her words cause Loki's head to snap towards her and his eyes widen in shock. She is shaking her head and is looking at him with so much fucking condescension that he wants to scratch the expression from her face, violently.

And then to scratch his eyes out in an attempt to erase the memory that she had ever looked at him like that.

She whispers: "I pity Sygin." And then she looks down, as if she could no longer bear to look at him and he wants to violently wrench her face back towards him. And to keep her eyes on him.

He wants to hurt her back- just as much as she has hurt him. So he attacks her sense of righteousness and accuses: "It's your fault." She exhales deeply and then looking at him with an unreadable expression on those features he so adored, she asks him: "How is it my fault?"

And he could tell her. He could tell her that it is her fault simply due to her crime of being, of existing. And that that is already enough to doom all of them. And as long as she is there it will always be her fault. And she couldn't possibly ever escape the felony. 

And Loki notices how _fucking_ ironic it would be to tell her this in the exact spot he had first loved her.

He hears her weary sigh but he does not look up. He couldn't even look at her. He wouldn't be able to stand it.

She approaches him and he sees the flash of her arm stretching out towards him and he jumps back out of her reach as if she will  _fucking_ burn him- she will burn him and he exclaims: "Don't touch me. I'll die if you touch me." 

He looks up and he sees her face contort with something tragic as her arm drops. And he realises that she is looking at him with pity. And he tries as hard as he can to tamper down his hurt pride.

The silence between them stretches.

And it is again her who breaks it.

"I think you should return to the dining room. Mother is worried."

He hears her make to leave.

"But then you never really fucking cared what I thought anyways."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK I know really short chapter and too much time between uploads. But I've had my first few weeks at uni and just found time to update now.  
> I'm so sorry for the long wait and if this chapter isn't satisfactory.  
> I will really try to update as soon as I can.  
> Love, Maria


	11. Chapter 11

_"Burning papers into ashes, what a season, how they fly high from the ground up there is yet another fountain, flowing over, as the night falls, keep dreaming away"- Dust It Off, The Dø_

_\---_

He passes a hand over his face as he picks up the still-warm paper from the printer tray. He looks dispassionately at the words printed on white paper before he turns the chair back towards the computer of his parents' library and proceeds to turn the machine off.

The door opens and he knows it's her without having to turn towards her. Silence stretches out between them as she surely had come for a late-night visit and read to the library, a habit of hers he noticed during the several visits he made when she was still a teenager.

Eventually he turns towards her and his heart hurts because she is standing there with her hair in a mused plait and wrapped in a wooly jumper and her usual sweats and she is looking at him with an expression so guarded that he never wished to see on that face directed at him.

He rises slowly from the chair, groaning inaudibly at the huge weight he feels on his shoulders. He looks at her- taking his fill of that lovely face- as he walks towards her. And with every step he takes towards he sees her becoming more and more tense as her shoulders bunch.

And then he is standing in front of her and he allows his green eyes to peruse her form, burning her into his memory. And then with a final sigh, he steps to the side and proceeds to walk past her. And he can feel the surprise at his behaviour radiating from her.

And perhaps it is this which causes him to tell her: "I'm leaving." He has his back to her but he can feel her whirling around to him and looking at him with wide eyes. He doesn't turn around to her. "I just bought a plane ticket to New York. The publishing company has a branch there. I have an job interview on Monday." He chuckles drily: "It's just a formality really. They have already asked me to fill the position numerous times and I will always said no because..." of you, he thinks but he is not yet willing to reveal just how much fucking power she has over him. He leaves the sentence unfinished. He shrugs his shoulders. Let her and her brilliant mind fill in the blank

A moment of silence passes and then she whispers, accusingly: "So you're leaving." He hadn't expected anything else from her but that condemning whisper. "Again." He tips his head back so that he is looking at the wooden ceiling of the library.

And before she can accuse him some more he whispers, despite himself and despite every fibre of his being telling him not to do it: "I love you."

He closes his eyes. The silence that comes from behind him says more than anything else could. He knows that she has heard him. He can feel the incredulity radiating from her tiny form. He shakes his head and now that he has started he can hardly save himself or her from saying everything that has been haunting him in the last few months- perhaps longer than that even, perhaps ever since he first held her in his arms.

"I love you. You need not tell me I should not. I know. But I cannot free you or myself from it. And I do not believe I would, if I could. I have been always too jaded and angry but now I love and I will love." And then he turns back towards her. He cannot resist looking at her one last time. And he had expected to see her looking at him with guilt or condescension at his words.

But he can't describe the look on her face. And before he can create any hope where there is none he positively flees from the library. His bag is waiting for him in the hallway and he picks it up quickly before moving to the front door. And all the while he can feel her eyes trained on his back.

And he feels that she wants to say something. He is sure of it. So much so that he allows himself to pause at the door, his right hand hovering over the door knob for a few seconds longer than necessary.

Then he hears her soft sigh behind him. And the fragile sound of the wooden floor creaking softly beneath her feet. And this time it's him that is the coward. Because at the merest indication of her coming towards him, he wrenches the door open and runs out of the house as if the most vindictive Greek Furies themselves were in hot pursuit of him.

And as he drives away from his parents' estate- from her- he curses himself. He can't shake the feeling that if he had but lingered a moment longer, everything would have been different. That he wouldn't be driving on this dark road, barely able to distinguish anything before his eyes.

He wouldn't be driving the two hours from Reading to Heathrow feeling as if his cold, previously untouched heart was in shreds in his chest.

Had he but lingered a second longer he wouldn't be blinded by bright light about halfway to Heathrow. Just another second and he wouldn't feel a shattering impact before everything went from painfully bright to blindingly dark.

\----

Coming back to consciousness the first thing he is aware of is something soft stroking across the back of his hand rhythmically.

Though his head is throbbing with pain and his limbs feel unbearably heavy that he wishes he could simply chop them off, the burn originating from the back of his hand consumes him. And he finds himself startled that it is the only sensation that is not unpleasant.

Slowly he becomes aware of his surroundings. From behind his closed eyelids he can sense the brightness of the room and the steady beeping and metallic humming from machines sound just beside him. And the sounds make him grow agitated.

He huffs once at the annoyance and he feels the steady stroking of the soft something falter on his fingers for a second. And it causes him to make an effort to open his eyes.

Because the caress is his only consolation at the moment and he doesn't want it to stop.

His lids feel as if glued together and it takes a ridiculous amount of effort which cause a sting to his pride to open them. But he eventually manages and then regrets it. Because the sudden onflood of light only worsens the ache behind his temple.

Blind from the synthetic light positively radiating down on him, he squints his eyes and turns his head to the side.

And the first thing he sees is her.

A soft, young face. Pixie-like features. Amber hair framing a heart-shaped face.

And he would have described her as the most wondrous and ethereal being- almost too perfect to be true- were it not for the obvious exhaustion and worry he saw etched on her face.

Yet as his eyes meet hers, some of the worry and pain seem to fall away and be replaced with wide-eyed shock. And then it slowly retreats. And that beautiful face seems to fall in. And she whispers brokenly- it makes his chest ache- "Loki".

He furrows his brow at the whisper. Not truly understanding.

Her small hand- the soft something had been her small hand caressing his, and his heart aches- leaves his and he is about to exclaim his protest at the desertation. But his complaints are silenced because now her soft palm perches at his cheek and she has risen slightly. Her small form leaning towards him and he is breathless.   
She is caressing his cheek. as if her palms wish to take her fill of him, and she whispers the same thing 'Loki, Loki' like a prayer. And he aches to know what she means.

And he wants to say her name. Despite his lips being chapped and his mouth feeling drier than a desert, he wants to say her name. But as he opens his mouth to utter the syllables of her name, he draws a blank.   
And as much as he exercises his mind- so much so that the pouding at his temple increases ten-fold- he can't recall her name.

But he knows her. Every fibre of his being sings at her touch and he knows her.

She is looking down at him and perhaps his face contorts with the pain of his head or with the dissatisfaction of not knowing her name. Her caress falters and she cocks her head to the side. She looks down at him worriedly.

And then there is a commotion behind them. She snaps away from him and turns towards the new occupants in the room. A broad-shouldered, tanned, blonde-haired man comes into his line of sight as he comes to a stand at her side.

He watches, his brows furrowing, when he sees the man's face fall. And he notes the similarities between the two individuals before him. Despite the man being tall, broad-shouldered and sunburned with a fair head of hair, while she is fragile and paler, something in their face strongly suggested that the two of them are related.   
Perhaps it is the equal expression of relief and worry that paints their faces.

"Oh thank god, Loki," the man breathes and his chest rumbles with his deep voice. And again this Loki.   
And he doesn't understand anything.

Specifically why the two people before him are looking at him as if he had just narrowly missed death.  
He sees the man muster him once again with warm, hazel eyes before he makes to turn and whispers to her: "I will fetch mother and father."

And then he is again alone with her. And she slowly descends on the chair and once seated her hands- not even the rain has such tiny hands, he struggles to remember where this thought comes from, but it is familiar somehow, as if he had thought the same thing often.

And then she takes up his tiny hand and though he struggles to remember (he struggles remembering anything really besides those doe eyes looking at him), he feels that she means a lot to him.  
And then his heart stutters in his chest when he feels something soft- even softer than those tiny hands, he couldn't believe that there was anything softer- and his eyes snap towards her to see her pressing her rosy lips to his knuckles.

And as he feels his heart explode in his chest, he longs to lean towards her and take a hold of her cheek and replace his knuckles with his lips.

But then an abrupt sound interrupts them and she snaps up and away from him and he resists crying out like a child at the loss of her.

The broad-shouldered man returns to the room followed by two older individuals. The woman is quite beautiful and his eyes snap towards her, because they look very similar. The man following beside the broad-shouldered younger man had white hair and a severe expression on his face. And besides the air of importance he radiated, his severe expression is the only thing that differentiated him from the others.

The woman immediately descends upon him: "Oh thank god, Loki. We were so worried." And his head is pounding and he feels slightly worn-out from the commotion, so he cracks his lips open and asks: "Forgive me and you are?" He trails off as he sees the woman's lined, yet handsome face drop.

She looks at him, stunned for a moment before she continues: "This is no time for jokes, Loki." And he comes to the firm realisation that Loki is his name. Yet he can't for the life of him understand why it had sounded so foreign to his ears. It is his name. He shouldn't find it so alien.

He returns to reality to see the woman becoming clearly perturbed beside him and she starts calling his name. And each time her voice becomes louder and shriller and he feels a pang in his chest urging him to comfort the clearly distressed woman before him.

"Mother," he hears a soft voice whisper and he looks towards her as she rests her tiny hands on the woman's now shaking shoulders. "Calm down," she says soothingly. And the woman's face turns from tragic to fierce and over her shoulder she spits at the younger woman: "My son knows not who I am. How can you expect me to be calm, Freya."

And though his head is hurting and he feels dizzy, he manages to count two and two together and his heart seizes in his chest and he whispers: "You are my sister?" The girl looks towards him with wide eyes.  
Before she can answer the broad-shouldered man rumbles: "Yes she is. We are your family, Loki." And he continues saying something to which he pays no mind. Because he can only look at her face which twists as if in a pain he can only feel spreading through his chest. 

\----

_AN: Nope I've got nothing. There is no excuse for the abominably long break between the chapters. Really no excuse._

_So we've just entered the second and final arc of the story. There will be a maximum of five more chapters until the story is finalised. Now with Loki not remembering anything, the gloves are off._


	12. Chapter 12

_"If you hold on to that past, don't you lock yourself inside, nothing has been done before It's the most virgin dress you could possibly wear mess it up, Time is up"- Dust It Off, The Do_

* * *

He tries to pay attention to the blonde beside him as she talks to him. His eyes scour her form as she goes on about something or another- he has long stopped following her line of speech.

He supposes that he should feel a sense of male pride. The woman who had introduced herself as his girlfriend is gorgeous. She has the whole leggy, tanned blonde bombeshell thing going on and Loki supposes that he should feel flattered by the fact that she seems to positively worship him, judging by her adoring expression at him and her constant fluttering of her eyelashes.

But his eyes only study her with a sense of dispassion. And he positively refuses to think about the reason for it.

"Thank you for visiting me, but I find myself very exhausted," he mumbles as he averts his eyes from her voluptous form, positively dismissing her from his presence. He still catches her crestfallen expression and he feels a certain sense of deprecation when he can only muster annoyance at her adoration for him.

Her lingering kiss on his cheek leaves him cold and he leans his head back and sighs when she leaves, closing the door behind her.

It's been three days since he woke up and still discomfort and unhappiness twist his gut. His family and friends have been filling him in what his life was before the accident that completely wiped his mind off everything. 

From what mainly his brother and his mother told him, he can objectively say that his life is near perfect. He has a prominent position in a publishing company which allows him to afford a more than comfortable lifestyle and a large flat in Hyde Park. He has a degree from one of the most prestigious British Universities. A beautiful girlfriend who worships the ground he walks on and a mother and brother who positively adore him.

And yet he still finds himself unhappy. 

And maybe it has to do with the fact that he has lost thirty-two years worth of memories.

Or so he tells himself.

As he closes his eyes to go to sleep, it is warm hazel eyes which consume his thoughts.

* * *

He wakes to the Sound of light steps going around the room.

Though he can't say for certain, he has the feeling that he is no light sleeper and it isn't the sound which disturbed his sleep.

He suspects that it has more to do with the owner of the steps. Every cell in his body seems to scream at her presence. Through hooded eyes he watches her as she puts down a Brown, ratty duffel bag and proceeds to arrange the flowers he had received from his mother in a vase.

And as the light from the sun streaming through the windows lights her ivory skin, his chest grows warm with tenderness. He tries to reason with himself that he feels so strongly about her because hers was the first face he saw as he woke up to this life. That his brotherly affection for her was inflated because she was the first unconsciously familiar thing he saw. And that she somehow anchors him to his past life.

Everything he hears or sees that is part of the life he used to lead feels washed out and dull, while she... 

She is his constant.

"You meant... mean a lot to me, don't you," he whispers, loud enough for her to hear. She turns toward him, seemingly not surprised that he is awake.

The tips of her fingers rest on the blossom of the daffodils, and he wishes he were them.

She is looking down, seemingly appearing conflicted.

Then her eyes steel themselves and she breathes in once before she starts: "You were gone for a very long time." He sits up attentively. She moves towards him and sits down on the chair that previously held Sygin. "I don't believe neither mother nor Thor told you this. But when you were eighteen you had a very big fight with our father. And you broke off any contact for ten years. I was four years old at the time." She smiles at him humourlessly before she continues: "I was heartbroken. I adored you. Even more so than I did Thor." She shakes her head.

His heart is beating so quickly he feels it will fly out of his chest.

"And I know it is horrible to say this because you are both my brothers and it is wrong to have a favourite. But... Despite you being cold and serious, as opposed to warm and jovial Thor who'd play with me, coddle me, indulge my every whim... it was you I loved above all." Her hazel eyes look up at him.

His mouth is dry and his breathing has deepened. "I can not explain why. I think it was just my soul which recognized yours. And I've never felt more hurt or betrayed than when you left and made me grew up without you." She averts her eyes from him and he resists the urge to grab her chin and direct those eyes back at him.

"But I grew up. Feeling like I was only part whole, but I grew up. And then Thor got shot while in Afghanistan and suddenly you just came back." Smiling sadly, she started to fidget with her small, porcelain-like Hands: "I saw you first at Thor's wedding. And I wanted to hate you. I wanted to shield myself because I felt that I had just glued myself together and your return would tear me apart to make space for you in my life."

She looks up at him and her eyes are decidedly watery.

"But I couldn't stay away. And soon you became again the entire centre of my existence."

"I like to think... hope that I mean something to you. It hurts too much thinking that you are ubiquitary to the person you love most in this world," she shakes her head and stands up. And he wants to say something. He wants to tell her that he adores her- has adored her since he woke up and looked at that face. And that if he is sure about one thing it is that his past self had loved with the same _heart-wrenching_ desperation.

But his mouth is dry and he is positively panting and he feels that were he to express his feelings they would not stay brotherly in nature.

So he simply watches her as she picks up her things and leaves his room.

* * *

He has started to despise her.

She has become a scape-goat of sorts. Because his guilt threatens to overwhelm.

She is so young and innocent... And his _fucking sister._

And he positively burns with desire for her.

He tries to reason with himself that perhaps he is mistaking his brotherly affections and making them out to be more than they are because she is the only thing he recognizes.

But he is sure that his past self felt equally consumed by his desire for her. And that his recognition comes from that.

And he starts to hate her for it. Because he already hates himself enough for desiring his little sister who is more than ten years his Junior.

Whenever Sygin is with him, he sees her lingering looks when the blonde touches him. And it makes him hate her all the more as he basks in her jealousy.

When Sigyn leaves after giving him a long, drawn out kiss and he sees the incensed look in her hazel eyes, he spits hatefully: "It's not her you know."

He should shield her from it. Should protect her from his depravity. But he doesn't want to.

He wishes her to suffer just as much as he does.

"It is not her I want," he states with certainty and with the determination he looks into her eyes with, he is sure there is no mistaking the hidden meaning behind his words.

He is sadistically glad when her face falls tragically at his words.

* * *

He hates her boyfriend.

He hates the boy who can touch her and look at her and smile at her as openly as he wishes he could.

He hates the boy who is so polite to him and his parents and his brother. And who is so adoring to _her._

He hates the boy for being utterly perfect and appropriate for her.  

He hates himself for hating the Boy so viciously.

And then he hates the boy all the more for simply existing and making his self-hatred greater.

And Loki grows grieved that he seems to be such a resentful and hate-filled man.

He makes no secret of his jealousy when the Boy is with her.

And she notices.

And he grows surprised at how cruel ( _just as cruel as him)_ she can be when she spits his word right back at him.

"It's not him I want you know."

* * *

_AN: I don't even know whether this can be classified as a chapter. I have the Feeling it's more a series of drabbles. I can only apologize for updating so late again. University has been kicking my arse. I now have Holidays so I will be able to update more and hopefully finish this Story in two weeks. So look Forward to an update (promised!) this week still._

_Thank you so much for whoever still follows this Story.  
And please tell me what you thought. _

_I have a Feeling this chapter is pathetic. But I hope you guys like it._

 

   

 


	13. Chapter 13

_"Hold your memory for a moment, with a blind Hand write some stories for tomorrow from the bottle of amnesia find instructions, to salvation to oblivion supreme"- Dust It Off, The Do_

* * *

It's the morning before his first day back at work and he feels his stomach twisting within him.

Not because it's his first day at work. He isn't the Person to worry over something as irrelevant as that. And never has been. He is sure of that.

No, the reason for his Agitation is currently putting a warm Cup of tea down infront of him. With her eyes fixed at the wooden countertop. Not daring to meet his eyes.

He should have become used to this tenseness between them. It has persisted ever since she spoke- _hissed-_ her last words to him. It has been a month since he has returned from the Hospital to his flat and his days have been filled with physiotherapy and his girlfriend fawning over him constantly until he grows _fucking_ exasperated with her and sends her away. And  _her_ silence. And everynight he goes to bed finding that what has exhausted him the most is _her._

  _Her_ constant resentment of him.

Feeling _her eyes_ on his back and resisting hard- _so hard-_ not to reciprocate her gaze.

Hobbling past _her_ room and going into his, when all he wants is to go in her room and make her his.

  _And the sick, twisted, deranged part of him never wants it to end._

_He knows that_

_And the tiniest push would send her over the edge._

"You have to leave," he mutters, lacking in the Courage to fully pronounce his words right. He'd never taken himself for a Coward, but now... he doesn't dare look up at her. The only indication he receives that she has heard his words ist that out of the Corner of his eyes, he sees her freeze in her movement and that they are now surrounded by a cool and icy silence.

He swallows thickly: "I can't stand it anymore, Freya. I hope you understand." And he can't hold himself back and he Looks up to that figure that is so terrible and wonderful to him at the same time- _perhaps so terrible because it was so wonderful to him._

She is pale. And her Hand rests heavily on the wooden countertop of his kitchen. As if that Hand was the only Thing Holding her upright. She feels his eyes on her. Slowly, almost reluctantly those Hazel eyes swerve to him.

And those rosy, pouty lips are down-turned at the Corner.

And those Hazel eyes- _he can't seem to take his eyes off those-_ shine with unshed tears.

And his Apprehension turns to White-hot Indignation.

He stands- still wobbly on his feet and slamming his Palms on the wooden top, he hisses like a snake: "What do you expect me to do?"

She flinches at his sudden outburst were he had been so tentative and unsure previously.

The only answer she gives him is looking at him with those wide, unblinking eyes.

And it only fuels his rage more.

"I can't sleep, I can't think, I can't breathe with you here," he exclaims and his throat Begins to tighten and he feels as if he is barely getting any air. But he continues to scream eventhough he feels short of breath.

"I despise you," he doesn't let himself be deterred by her flinching at his cruel exclamation and he continues, ignoring the tears that now roll down her porcelain cheeks.

"I hate you, and I hate me. And I absolutely despise the fact that there is nothing in this world I want or desire more than you," he hisses through clenched teeth. And she is still crying, but she is moving towards him.  _Slowly, steadily._

"And if there is something, I'm sure of... Is that whoever I used to be hated you and himself just as much," he manages to force out before he drops his gaze and breathing heavily, fixes his green eyes on the countertop.

He can feel her closeness now. She has stopped Standing just beside him, and her warm Body is just a hair's breadth away from him. Out of the Corner of his eyes, he sees her reaching for him-

"No," he exclaims moving away from her searching Hands. "Don't touch me!" He Looks up at her crying face. And he feels himself crumble: "I'll die if you touch me."

_And he veritably falls into her pleading arms._

* * *

_And the rest of the day is warm tears against his cheeks._

_Open-mouthed kisses on White, soft Skin._

_Her soft, warm form against his cold, hard Frame._

_Frenzied Hands, touching- exploring- possessing everything within their grasp with White-hot Desperation._

_And he veritably knows now what it's like to melt._

* * *

 

Afterwards their lying side by side.

Not touching.

Breathing deeply.

Loki knows that after their frenzied joining they each Need their space.

Yet it doesn't stop him from turning his head towards her and studying her.

She is looking up, shoulders bare, cheeks a rosy pink and her chest rises and falls at a rapid, steady rate.

He had dreaded that perhaps he would've found her crying silent tears of guilt.

But that is not the case.

Her gaze is unreadable, impassive. Yet he can't detect any guilt or regret in her eyes.

He turns to his side and laying his arm around her waist, pushes them Closer, eliminating the distance between them and lays another open-mouthed kiss on her bare shoulder.

And she doesn't flinch and try to get out of his hold.

She simply sighs in what he believes to be Resignation. She leans into his touch.

And he Looks up at her and their noses are a hair's breadth apart.

Her small Hand Comes to rest on his shoulder- as if looking for Support and she whispers: "Do you truly hate me?"

He chuckles and it is drenched with tragedy and heartache and he kisses her forehead before he whispers against her skin: "Only because I can't seem to stop loving you so desperately, my Darling."

Her Hand tightens its hold on his shoulders as he Claims her lips once more.

 


End file.
